Blind Loyalty
by MissScorp
Summary: When you are working with a man like Slade Wilson, failure is not an option, and loyalty is an absolute must. T for language, sexual situations, mature themes and TV violence.
1. Failure

**A/N:** Hello m'dears… and welcome!

Please, if you like this story, click the follow/favorite button. Also, reviews are deeply cherished!

**S/N:** This story is happening within the spectrum of events that have happened up to the most current aired Television episode (_Time of Death_). Updates will be wrapped around what happens in the rest of the season, or I will make it up as I go along. You can say I am slightly AU-ing things, but I will do my best to follow what is seen in the series to the best of my ability. Hopefully people enjoy this as much as I am enjoying writing it!

Also, much thanks goes to NeoMiniTails for helping to go through this chapter with me and make suggestions and point out lines and phrases which didn't work. Many thanks Neo!

* * *

'_Are you cut up_

_Or do you easily forget_

_Are you still around_

_Why haven't you managed to die yet_

_You could prop up the bar in hell'_

-Karma Killer, Robbie Williams

* * *

"I want you to begin production of another batch of the serum," the man said in a dark baritone that Jacob knew could just as easily command respect and loyalty as it could bring on waves of mind numbing fear. "Is that clear?"

"Of course…" Jacob said with a nod, but his employer shushed him with a look.

When silence again reclaimed the room, the man said, "I also want you to locate another group of samples in which to test the serum on. And I strongly suggest that you not fail in acquiring viable samples this time. Remember that your _position_ within this organization is a _tenuous_ one."

Jacob Justice began to pace restlessly back and forth across the king-sized living room while his employer lounged on the sofa, perfectly at ease in his surroundings. _And why shouldn't he be at ease_? he thought bitterly. Slade Wilson's luxury penthouse occupied the top floor of a high rise in one of Starling's ritzy uptown neighborhoods. The surfaces inside the apartment were hard, its edges sharp. Colors were dark-black walnut, crimson, onyx. Burnished gold trim and charcoal toned leather advertised his wealth and eclectic taste. The swarthy man reclining upon the couch was anything but a flamboyant playboy, though. Every inch of his employer screamed with how little he had in common with the city's pampered society set. Even relaxed, Slade's body resembled that of a caged tiger. Every muscle was taut with tension, every limb coiled and ready to spring when his prey crossed his path. His one eye gleamed with anticipation, and amusement.

"It's not my fault that the last batch of the serum needed to be thrown out," Jacob said defensively. "The samples became contaminated when the refrigeration units failed. We weren't able to save any of the supply we had ready for testing."

"I don't want to hear excuses," Slade said softly, smoothly. "I want to hear your assurance that you will have another batch of the serum ready for testing by next week."

"Of course," Jacob quickly replied. He'd heard the silky undercoating inside that dark purr and knew it for what it was: a warning. "However, to restart manufacturing the serum _will_, I'm afraid, require another sample of your own blood. When we lost the last batch of serum, we also lost the sample we had of your blood."

The corner of Slade's lips quirked upwards and he gave a slight nod of his head. "I will see that you get what you need."

Jacob took that as his dismissal and turned to exit the apartment. He fought the sudden urge to bolt from the room like a gazelle. He had a feeling Slade was waiting for him to do just that so he could hunt him down and rip him limb rom limb.

He was not about to give the man the satisfaction.

* * *

Slade watched the man go, his long lips crooking upwards into the faint shape of a smirk. He knew the man feared him, he could smell it on him. Everything about Jacob Justice, from the nervous twitch of his hands, the slight flaring of his nostrils and the way he'd kept glancing at the exit had told him Jacob desired to be anywhere but in front of him. Not that he could blame the man. If he was being hunted by a man as dangerous as himself, he might react exactly as that spineless wimp had. Slade shifted his head to the side and found himself staring at the familiar face of Moira Queen, the former acting CEO of Queen Consolidated and current mayoral candidate, who was saying something he could not hear. He reached for the remote and turned up the volume.

"...has been a three percent increase in the approval rating for mayor candidate Moira Queen," an anchorman was saying over the images rolling across the screen . "This must come as some surprise to Sebastian Blood, who until just a few days ago was about to run for mayor of Starling on what appeared to be an unopposed ballot. If the ratings are any indication, then the battle for mayor has just become an interesting one. Who will emerge after the ballots are tallied is anybody's guess at this point in time. Stay tuned…"

Slade glared at the screen. This was not the sort of news he'd anticipated receiving. Brother Blood was clearly failing in his objective to secure Starling for them. _Another failure_, he thought, his long fingers tapping out an impatient rhythm upon his thigh. It was time to again remind the _Alderman_ about how easily another could be chosen to wear his mask.

"Go," he growled at a figure that'd been standing at the ready should he have need of anything. "Get Brother Blood and bring him here. Do not take no for an answer."

He saw the figure nod, once, before they ducked into the hallway behind them. A current of lightning sizzled through Slade's one remaining eye as he looked again at the television screen. The report had changed to some fluff piece about a cat being rescued from a tree. As if he cared. He shut the television off and rose to pace, like a jaguar, in front of the huge bay windows. Starling glittered like a trillion stars in the ever growing twilight. Yet he saw none of the sparkling beauty laid out below him. No, his vision was focused far off into the distance and upon the man whose sentence he'd yet to see carried out._ Well th_at, he decided as his lips peeled back in a snarl,_ was going to chang_e. Starting _tonight_.

"Oliver Queen," he rumbled. "It's time you discovered what hell really looks like."

* * *

A room away, behind the closed door of Slade's private office, a petite figure crouched in front of a safe, working the combination lock with quick, clever fingers. Sienna James's avid brown eyes gazed out from behind her thin, wire-rimmed spectacles, watching the numbers on the tumbler as they clicked into place. She'd tucked her long hair up into a messy bun earlier that afternoon, but fly away tendrils had started to escape and were tickling the back of her hair, distracting her from her task. She tucked the loose strands around the pen she'd forgotten she'd stuck in the mouse-brown strands before twisting the tumbler to the left and hearing the _click _that said she'd entered the correct combination. Her lips lifted into a smile that was a mixture of both relief and wry amusement at how such a simple thing as a combination lock could give her so many problems.

She reached for one of the leather-bound ledgers on the floor by her feet, unaware she was being watched by the figure that'd entered the room just a second after she'd entered the last number into the lock. Slade leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb and watched her for a moment, charmed and soothed (as he always was) at just the sight of her. This petite woman had definitely become the queen of his dark domain. A few of his more daring underlinings had questioned why he gave Sienna the keys to his castle. He'd answered simply that it "suited him." Of course, Sienna had proven to be more than capable of running both his household and business affairs. She'd shown him she was more than capable of seeing to all of his personal needs. The woman also had demonstrated that she was quite adept at handling _him_ as well. _And she manages that without even trying,_ he thought as the hard lines of his face softened.

"You're not working late again, are you, Sienna?" he queried as he finally shoved away from the wall and made his way into the room. Those eyes shifted, pinning him for a moment in an expression which reminded Slade of a doe trapped in the glare of headlights. Then her expression relaxed into that quietly intense one he'd come to realize was her unmasked, and her lips curved up into a shyly sweet smile.

"You said that you value workers who know the meaning of loyalty and hard work, Mr. Slade."

"Sienna," he reproached gently. "How many times must I insist upon you calling me Slade?"

"Just once more, Mr. Slade," she replied in that soft, lyrical tone that managed to coax him out of even his foulest of moods. "As always."

It was a game they had been playing since he'd rescued her from a panderer fourteen months ago. During one of her lucid moments she'd asked him who he was. Not knowing what to tell her (given the amount of drugs still in her system), he'd told her that he was a "pirate." She'd called him Jack until learning his name. Normally, he'd have indulged himself in a few moments of their usual back and forth banter. It was always _entertaining_ to trade quips with Sienna. His little dove had quite the acerbic wit beneath that shy and demure mask she wore. Sparking it had become somewhat a hobby of his, a way to relieve the tedium and boredom of his life.

Yet, it was something he knew he could not indulge himself in while he still wanted to spit nails over Brother Blood's second failure.

Sienna was not accustomed to _that_ side of him. She'd never seen _that_ side of him. She had no idea that he was both the man who could easily snap a man's neck as he was the man who could politely shake his hand at the close of a business deal. She'd never seen his more predatory side, the one which smiled when he was cruel, and who was cruel when he smiled. He had done his best to keep her oblivious to that side of him; to that part of his life. That was why he took a seat behind his desk, putting distance and his desk between them. It was precautionary as much as it was conscious of how easily he could hurt her if he was not mindful.

"Have you managed to unravel the financial mess that my previous secretary left my books in?"

"No," Sienna replied with a slight grimace. "And I have matched up every receipt with its appropriate transaction, tallied all payouts and accounted for every dollar that was spent according to the ledgers themselves. But," she paused to take a breath. And released it in one long, frustrated exhalation that had his lips twitching. "The money that should be there, that the books specify should be in your business account?" She shook her head before saying, "It's not there. And I don't know why that is. I do not understand what Miss Sanderson did or where she might have hidden your money."

"And the discrepancy is only in that one division?"

She nodded, once. "Only the _Miracle_ division is the one coming up short. The rest of your accounts balance perfectly. It's just this one that I cannot get to balance." She turned back around, cracked the lock and opened the safe. The thick steel door opened without making a sound. "I'm sorry Mist... _Slade_," she instantly corrected. "I do not like reporting that I have failed to accomplish something that you specifically asked me to do."

"You have not failed me, little one," he assured her in a low, soothing murmur. "The one who failed me was your predecessor."

_And I have already made her pay for the error of her ways._ Slade said nothing about that_,_ merely watched Sienna place the ledgers one by one into the safe. He did not need to ask her if she was keeping the leather bound books in order, he knew she was. Nor did he need to ask if she'd filed the daily reports in the order he preferred them to be filed in, he knew she had.

_And that_, he thought as he studied her, _is because Sienna James is smart, highly efficient and quite capable of performing any of the tasks I assign her_.

She was quickly proving herself to be the most trustworthy member of his staff. Anything he asked of her, she did without qualm or question. If he asked her to listen, she listened. If he asked her to obey his directives, she obeyed them. If he asked for her best, he got it. No questions asked, no excuses made, no protests given. Sienna's only faults came from trying to unravel the failures of those who came before her. That was not something he could rightly hold _her_ accountable for. Yet, no matter how willingly and diligently Sienna worked for him, no matter how she obeyed his every command and followed his every direction explicitly, there was still a festering question in the back of his mind asking him if she was loyal to _him_ because she respected (or cared for) _him_, or because she felt indebted to _him_ for having rescued _her_ from hell.

Slade was not sure he really wanted to know the answer.

He watched as she shut the safe and rose to face him in a rustle of sea-green silk. He could see fatigue breaking through, haunting her eyes and knew she'd worked through the night (again) to try and unravel the mystery of his misplaced money. She routinely worked herself into physical and emotional states of exhaustion. The months she'd spent in the custody of her pander had left some deep psychological scars. Scars which Slade (who had plenty of those for himself) knew would take years to fully heal. Thinking of her ordeal brought him to a whole new dilemma: did he dare test her loyalty to him considering all she'd been put through?

_Do I push her out into society, knowing she still gets anxious in large groups of people_? He wondered, frowning slightly. _Do I ask her to confront someone she does not know, knowing she fears strangers (and men most especially)?_ _Is she ready for this sort of an undertaking?_

The answer that came back to every question he asked was a simple one: _yes_.

Slade was forced to admit that Sienna was stronger than she (or he for that matter) gave her credit for being. It was not as if he would dump her into the middle of a pack of hyenas. He would give her the security of taking her himself so that she would know he was nearby should she find herself in need of him. It was time to start pushing her into rejoining society anyway. She needed to become more independent. He might not always be there to protect her. _Or be there to rescue her_. Flickers of memories rose up and Slade hammered them back with the same ruthlessness he showed his enemies. He had no time to remember days which were best left in the past. Not at that moment anyway. For now he had a choice to make. One that he realized was a surprisingly easy one when it came down to it.

"Sienna," he said, leaning back in his chair. "Have you heard of a club in the Glades called _Verdant_?"

He saw her frown her confusion. "No, I don't think so," she said slowly, hesitantly. "Should I have?"

He shook his head. "It is not important whether you have or not, really," he told her truthfully.

She turned to the sideboard and poured an amber colored liquid into a crystal tumbler that she set in front of him. "Why do you ask if I have heard of _Verdant_ if it is not important then?" she asked curiously. "Are you thinking of purchasing the club?" Her face brightened, causing his breath to catch. It was so rare to ever see her truly _happy_. He took a moment to enjoy the sight of her pleasure before she dispelled the moment by saying, "I will do some research on it for you. I can pull their financials; see what sort of revenue they pull in and what sort of debt they are currently carrying."

_Now wouldn't that toss a wrench into things_? Slade mused while sipping at his rum. He could just imagine the look on the kid's face were he to suddenly find himself with his old friend _Slade_ as a business partner. It almost was worth investigating. Instead, he smiled at Sienna and told her, "I'm not thinking of acquiring the club."

"Oh." She sounded almost disappointed about that. Slade took another sip of his drink to cover the small sound of amusement which sprang into his throat. She did love helping him with the acquisition of the businesses that covered his real job. "Is there a reason then for why you asked if I knew of the club, then?"

"Yes, there is," he said with a slight nod. "I would like for you to deliver a gift to the owner of the club for me. Tonight," he stated in a firm voice, "if you do not mind doing so."

He saw the brief flash of fear, of panic that flickered across her face; through those expressive eyes and knew instantly what she was thinking, feeling. For a second, he thought she was going to either outright refuse his request or crumple to the floor in a quivering mass of panic. Then he saw her notch her chin, an open act of defiance, before she said in a voice laced with a hint of steel, "Of course. I would be happy to deliver your gift for you."

Silently, he applauded her. He knew what it cost her to hammer back the fears tearing at her. Such courage and strength would have been impossible for her a few short months ago. But that persistent voice in his head then asked him about whether or not she was complying out of loyalty to him, or because of her feeling of being in his debt. He shoved the thought aside.

"I have some business I need to take care of," he said gruffly. "But once I am done, I will take you to _Verdant_."

"All right," she said before slowly turning to leave. "Shall I prepare coffee if you are having company?"

"No," he said. "My guest won't be staying more than a few minutes." He saw her acknowledge his words with a nod before she crossed towards the door. "Sienna?" he called before she reached for the handle.

"Yes, Slade?"

"Wear one of the dresses I bought for you in New York. I want to take you to dinner after you have delivered my gift."

He saw by her expression that she was pleased. "Of course," she said before exiting the room. Slade turned to stare out the window, willfully ignoring that voice telling him he was being a damned fool.

* * *

"You told me to leave Moira Queen to you!" Sebastian Blood exclaimed angrily a half hour later. He tossed down a drink from the bar. The single-malt whiskey did little to calm him. He paced back and forth across the floor. "You told me that you were going to handle her!"

Slade watched him in silence. The man's smell was Calvin Klein and nerves. It was an empowering, intoxicating scent. His lips lifted into a slow, predatory smile. "And I will handle Moira Queen in due time," he said in a low, moist hiss. "But my own business is not why I requested that you come here this evening."

Sebastian stopped pacing and turned to stare at the man who was seated behind that ornate desk. Slade Wilson looked like a modern day pirate with his eye patch and the days' worth of stubble darkening his cheeks. Yet his suit was exquisitely tailored, his stripped tie perfectly knotted, and his salt-and-pepper hair neatly trimmed. _Of course_, _Slade has that woman seeing to his "every" need_. Exactly why it bothered him that his superior had the James woman caring for him, Sebastian could not quite explain. It was not like the woman was of any particular importance to him. Nor was it like he particularly cared to have her services for himself. He put the woman out of his mind and focused again upon Slade.

"Why did you call me here, then?" he asked.

"I called you here to address _your _failure," Slade replied smoothly. "Your _second_ failure, in fact."

Sebastian regarded him with eyes he knew shimmered with resentment. "My failure?" he asked calmly. "And what failure is it that you are placing the blame upon me for?"

Slade fixed him with a look so black that the Alderman thought he was staring at the entrance into Hell. He started to squirm beneath that glare and hated himself for it. Slade's lips twisted into a cruel smile. It was a taunt, Sebastian knew. It was a taunt as much as it was a challenge. The man was daring him to do something to him. As if there was anything he _could_ do to this man. Even four armed bodyguards had not been enough to slow Slade Wilson down.

"I promise you..." Sebastian began, but Slade cut him off before he could even begin to spin what he already knew was going to be another gossamer web of half-truths and pipe dreams.

"For a man who has promised to deliver me much, you have so far only delivered me failure after pitiful failure. I am beginning to lose both my patience, as well as my faith in you. Need I remind you, yet again, about how easily another can be taught to wear your mask?"

"No," Sebastian replied in a sullen tone. "You do not need to remind me about how easily another can be taught to wear my mask."

"Then I suggest that you do not fail me again."

* * *

"Misser Slade has asked you on a date."

"This is not a date, Marta," Sienna said while securing the back of her earring. "Mr. Slade is only taking me to dinner as repayment for my agreeing to drop a gift off to the owner of the _Verdant _for him."

Marta sniffed. Loudly. "Si, he has asked you to go on a date after work."

Sienna smiled at her from over her shoulder.

"It's not a date, Marta," she again said. "It's just dinner."

"As in a dinner _date_."

Sienna swallowed her sigh and turned to look at the older woman. "Why are you so insistent that this is a date, Marta? Why can't it just be a dinner between two friends?"

Marta reached up to give her cheek a motherly little pat. "You trust Marta on this," she said calm as you please. "I might be old now, but I remember that when a man tells a girl he is taking her out to dinner that he means he is taking her out on a date."

"I have gone to dinner with Mr. Slade dozens of times in the last few months," Sienna pointed out calmly. "And none of those times constituted a date to you."

"You weren't asked to put on a nice dress for any of those dinners."

Sienna picked up her second earring, let it dangle between her fingertips for a moment. "Why does my dress suddenly make this a date?"

"Dress like that is meant to make a man think thoughts."

She certainly didn't see how her black dress was designed to make a man think anything. It was a simple chiffon material, unadorned by any needless trappings or glitzy thingies. To Sienna, the simple halter dress was the basic staple of any woman's wardrobe. It was capable of being dressed up or down, worn day or night, in the office with a jacket or over a casual dinner with a friend. There was nothing sassy or snazzy about it in her mind. It certainly shouldn't inspire whatever thoughts that Marta seemed to think it would. _Whatever those were_, she thought with a sigh.

"Exactly what thoughts should a man have inspired from such a basic black dress?" she asked the housekeeper.

Marta heaved a heavy sigh. The child was either completely clueless about men, or willfully oblivious to her own sexual appeal. "Missy, woman puts on a dress like that when she wants a man to think about what is, or isn't on beneath it."

Sienna fought to not roll her eyes. "Marta, please. As if Mr. Slade is the type of man to waste time imagining what might or might not be on beneath my dress."

"Misser Slade imagines what might, or might not be on beneath your clothes all the time."

Sienna felt her cheeks flood with heat. "Marta!"

The housekeeper merely sniffed. "Don't you _Marta _me, Missy!" she scolded fiercely. "I see what I see! And what I see is that Misser Slade watches you when you don't think he watches you!"

A long-suffering sigh just wouldn't do. Pointing out that Slade was merely keeping an eye upon her and making sure she was well would only continue the argument. Since it was impossible to ignore the scowling woman jammed in the bathroom with her, Sienna tried another tactic.

"Maybe Mister Slade does watch me," she said gently. "But that doesn't mean his offering to take me to dinner tonight in anyway constitutes a date."

"You will see," Marta said on a sigh. "I just hope that it will not be before you potentially miss out on something that could make the both of you very happy."

Softening, Sienna cupped Marta's homely face in her hands. She did not need to struggle with finding patience, she realized. She'd only had to remember love and patience automatically showed up.

"If there is something meant to be, then it is meant to be."

"Missy," Marta muttered. "Misser Slade keeps you with him. He has allowed no other woman to be as close to him as he allows you to be."

"He trusts me," Sienna said with a delicate shrug of her shoulders. "And, in his own way, I think he does care about me. Same as I care for him. Isn't that enough?"

"For you, perhaps. But I do wish that you would be a bold woman for once. You are a good woman Missy Sienna. You deserve happiness."

Sienna turned, applying perfume with a rose colored wand to her wrists, the column of her throat, and behind her ears. "Well, if this dress is capable of making him think about what I am, or am not wearing beneath it, then I tend to think I am making a rather bold statement without intentionally trying."

Marta curled her lip, angled her head to the side. "Maybe you not so stupid after all."

"Or maybe I am a cautious woman who doesn't care to tempt fate." Sienna slicked on a touch of lip gloss, shook back her mane of hair, turned. "So, how do I look?"

"Like a tasty morsel that Misser Slade will want to devour once he sees you."

Sienna just sighed. "I'm not sure that I like the thought of being something he'd like to consume," she said. "But it'll do."

Marta just shooed her from the room.


	2. Fear of Failure

**A/N:** Hello m'dears… I hope the week has been a good one to you!

Please, if you like this story, click the follow/favorite button. Also, reviews are deeply cherished!

**S/N:** Just a small reminder that the updates for this story mainly are based upon the information we receive from the show. I'm sticking with as much of canon as I can while telling my own side story, obviously, but Slade's back story, his entire purpose for ruining Ollie, and his 'promise' are still things coming to light and which are crucial to my plot. So please be patient :)

* * *

In the dark shadows of an abandoned warehouse, an hour after moonrise, they met. Soon, the plan they had been hatching for months would come to fruition. There would be no more threats of death for any of their theoretical failures. They would no longer have to worry about bloody retribution for any of their supposed faults and flaws. They'd no longer be under the thumb of a man with the codename _Deathstroke_. They would be free, rich and powerful. They would be feared by the masses and worshipped as Gods. Until then, however, the three men who met would continue to meet in secret. Being foolish now would undo everything they'd been striving all these long and arduous months to achieve.

"Are you absolutely sure that Wilson knows nothing about us meeting like we have?" The one known as Brother Justice adjusted his mask and stared at his similarly attired conspirators. "He is no fool. And," he added in a hurried whisper, "he has spies everywhere. He could well be watching us from somewhere close by and just waiting to put an arrow or a bul-"

"Calm yourself, Brother Justice," the second man, known as Brother Truth, interjected in a firm tone. "Wilson is far too obsessed with his personnel vendetta with Oliver Queen to pay us more than the cursory amount of attention necessary at this moment."

"Still…" Brother Justice whined in a nasal tone that grated upon the nerves of his companions. "He could be anywhere. The man is dangerous!"

"I assure you that Slade Wilson is not lurking nearby with a bow and arrow," the third man said. "Not tonight, at least."

Brother Justice turned burning eyes upon the man. "And you know this how, Brother Blood?" he demanded. "Do you have a crystal ball that's showing you where the man is as of this moment?"

"I do not." Brother Blood flicked his gaze over the trembling man, disgusted by his show of cowardice. "And your lack of faith is disturbing for one who has chosen the undertaking."

Justice scoffed. "And your belief that Wilson might not be out there watching; just waiting to put arrows through all three of us tells us what a blind fool that you are!"

"And unlike you, who ran from his penthouse the second he dismissed you, I took the time to learn that he is taking the James woman out on a date this evening. Even her rather…" he paused, sneered, "_simple_ charms are enough to keep a man like Slade Wilson occupied for the rest of the night."

"That's it? That's why you are figuring that he is not tailing us? He's taking the woman out on a _date_?" Justice scoffed and waved his hand dismissively. "Where exactly does that prevent him from showing up here and putting arrows through all three of us?" He tossed his arms wildly up into the air. "He can do that and then take the woman out to dinner! It won't make a difference to him one way or the other!"

"Slade Wilson will not risk exposing her to his more violent nature," Brother Blood said in a voice laced with cold contempt and ringing with resentment. "He tends to shelter the woman from who he really is. He's diligently worked, in fact, to keep her from seeing his true self, and from uncovering his true motives. Why exactly she is so special to him?" He shrugged. "I do not know. Clearly, though, she is. Which works well for us tonight. So calm yourself."

Brother Truth turned his gaze upon their leader. Beneath his mask, his eyes were a mixture of exasperation and dark speculation. "Why do you resent the James woman so much, Brother Blood?" he questioned in a grave tone. "She is harmless and unimportant to our mission." He waved a hand. "Forget her."

"Forget her?" Blood growled. "_Forget_ her?"

He'd been trying to forget the damned woman ever since she'd arrived in Starling! His infatuation with her was becoming annoying to say the least. It wasn't as if Sienna James was a raving beauty, or a rich heiress who could buy their freedom from Slade Wilson. She had no social connections to speak of, possessed only the basic college education. Yet the blasted woman was haunting his every thought—awake or asleep, it did not seem to matter, she was constantly at the forefront of his mind. He knew that part of his obsession with her was because she belonged to Wilson. He wanted to possess her simply because she was his and he wanted to bring the man to his knees.

"Sienna James is of no importance to us," he heard Truth saying. "So put her from your mind and focus upon our mission."

Brother Blood turned towards his brother. "Have you forgotten that he's asked the woman to track down the money we filtered to our investor?"

"I assure you I have not forgotten that Wilson has asked the woman to track down his missing money," Truth assured him in a somber voice. "I can also assure you that Miss James will not find out where that money has gone. Or to whom it was given."

"The woman has already managed to uncover that it was Miss Sanderson who was doctoring the books for us," Blood said harshly. "And she has figured out exactly how much money it was that Miss Sanderson filtered out of his accounts for us."

"And we know what happened to her," Justice squawked. "Wilson gave her a chance to run and then he put an arrow through her heart. And if we aren't careful that is going to be our own fate. I'm telling you, he is…"

"That is enough out of you, Brother Justice. Your cowardice is both sickening and exasperating." Brother Truth laid a briefcase upon an old crate and snapped open the locks even as Brother Justice sputtered at the rebuke. But the man held his tongue, which Brother Truth was thankful for. "And Brother Blood, I have not forgotten that the James woman has been asked to uncover Wilson's missing money. Nor am I unaware of the fact that she has figured out how much money that Slade Wilson is missing. However," his voice dropped now to a low, dark hiss, "I can assure you that she will be quite unable to find where the money has gone."

Brother Blood scoffed. "I would not be so certain of myself, Brother Truth. Miss James has proven herself to be quite adept at solving even the most complicated puzzles."

"If the woman manages to uncover where his money is gone," Truth said with a slight shrug of his shoulders. "Then I will see to it that she is disposed of. Now, let's get down to business. Our time tonight is short and our investor wants to know when exactly we will have a new batch of the serum ready."

Brother Blood saw that Truth's words were short and sweet. They worked to end any further discussion upon the matter. The three men got down to business, plotting the downfall of a man who was no longer of any use to them.

* * *

_Verdant_ was a hive of activity. Even though it was barely after nine o'clock, Sienna saw there was a huge crowd of people already bopping to _Maroon 5's_ latest dance hit out on the dance floor. Even more people were lining up outside the doors she'd just passed through and she suspected many more than that would be in line once she exited. _Bully for them_, was her thought. She just wanted to find Mr. Queen, hand over Slade's package to him before scurrying back to the relative safety of his luxury town car. _And I want to be back in the presence of Slade himself_. Sienna pushed that wishful thought aside. Thinking about her sinfully handsome boss was not something she could afford at that moment. Not when bands of panic were wrapping themselves around her chest and cinching tight. She paused by the staircase, chewing her bottom lip while she tried to screw up the courage to cross the short distance to the bar so she could ask the blonde woman tending where her boss was.

"There are a lot of people in the club at the moment, Slade," she said in a nervous twitter. "I didn't think there would be so many people here at this hour. I'm not sure..." her voice trailed off into a soft sigh full of both nerves and frustration. _It didn't use to be like this_, she thought sadly. _I didn't use to be such a craven little coward_. No, once upon a time she'd been a confident and sophisticated woman. That woman wouldn't fear coming into a club like this one. She used to go out to clubs like _Verdant_ all the time. That woman had never once feared that someone was lurking in those clubs who could mean her harm. She'd just boldly walked into those night spots without a care in the world. That woman had routinely engaged strangers (men as well as women) in conversation without feeling as if she was going to throw up the moment she opened her mouth. That woman had had friends, dated (nothing serious), and lived her life like a normal American woman in her thirties.

Then she'd been kidnapped while leaving that club in Miami and her whole world, as well as everything in it, had come crashing to a halt. Who she'd been had ceased the instant those three men grabbed her and hustled her, kicking and screaming into that van they'd had waiting across the street. For the first month of her capture, she'd lived in a suspended state of animation- neither alive, nor dead. She'd been held with twenty other women in the basement of a house only god knew where, force fed only God knew what drugs in order to keep her compliant, and debased in almost every way but sexually before then being shipped off to an underground _auction house_ in St. Petersburg. The memories of her long ordeal rose up, images superimposing themselves over sights and smells. Her stomach began to coil into greasy knots and her mouth filled with saliva. She knew she was going to be sick if she didn't get the hell out of there and fast. God, she was a damned _fool_ for thinking she could handle this one small task for the man who'd rescued her from hell.

"I don't think I can do this, Slade," she croaked out around the ball lodged in her throat. "I'm sorry..."

"Sienna," Slade's husky timbre came through her earpiece to tickle her senses. "What have I told you about panic attacks, love?"

She was panting with the effort to not lose the contents of her stomach. "That they can only defeat me if I allow them to."

"And what is this panic attack doing?"

She tried to draw a breath but it was difficult. Her chest felt tight, her lungs cold lumps surrounding her erratically beating heart. "Defeating me?" she rasped.

"And what should you do about it?"

A voice in the back of her head whispered one word in response to that question: _run_. But her automatic mouth had her reply, "Remind myself that I am safe and that nobody is going to hurt me."

"And?"

"And..." a pause. "I don't think I can do this, Slade," she whimpered. "I'm sorry... I just don't think I am ready for this. There are just way too many people here. _Please_..."

"Nothing bad is going to happen to you while you are in there, love," he murmured in that tone which always seemed to slide beneath the edge of her panic and scare away the shadows hurling obscenities at her. "I will stop them before they can hurt you."

"You promise? You promise that if I need you, you will come?" she asked him in a voice which reminded her of a scared little girl. It took her a minute before she realized that that voice had just come out of _her_. Her pitiful exhibition of cowardice sickened her. But Slade merely made that small little sound (a cross between a silky hum and a velvet purr) that he always made when she asked him that. The tonal intonation slid over her senses, electrifying them before going deeper, to where her fears and nightmares danced in malevolent glee around the spit upon which they'd skewered her courage and banishing them back to the darkness from which they'd came.

"Have I ever not come when you have needed me, little one?"

"N-no."

"Then you know that I will come should you find that you are in need of me."

She drew in a shaky breath, released it slowly. "I'd still prefer if you were _physically_ in here with me." She backed against a metal pillar when a crowd of people went strolling, laughing and talking boisterously, past her. "I still don't understand why you couldn't deliver this gift with me. Wouldn't it be more appropriate for you to be with me to deliver it?"

There was such a hopeful note in her tone that it repulsed her. _Get it together_, _girl_, she ordered herself, sucking in a huge lungful of air and releasing it slowly while she waited for him to reply.

"My relationship with Mr. Queen is a bit complicated at the moment," he told her in that silky smooth tone Sienna knew he used whenever he didn't want to talk about a particular topic with her. Slade had promised to never lie to her after he'd rescued her, but he'd told her in no uncertain terms that that did _not _mean he was "required to tell her everything about his business or personal relationships." Whatever his relationship with Mr. Queen was, it was clearly not something he was ready to talk with her about. She swallowed back the bile that was still waiting at the back of her throat. "It is my hope that this gift will smooth things between us. You understand that, don't you, love?"

"Yes, of course I do, Slade. It's just..."

"And you can deliver it for me, can't you?" he said over her.

"Yes," she said, stiffening her spine and forcing her quaking knees to stop quivering by locking them. "Yes, I can do this. I _will_ do this." She took a slow step forward. "But I'm only doing this for _you, _you know_."_

He made a sound that might have been amusement before saying, "And I am eternally grateful for your sacrifice, Sienna." A man shoved by her and Sienna let out a squeak. "Just give my present to Mr. Queen, little one," his voice dropped to a low, dark rumble which caused her belly to curl into slippery little knots. "And then we can be on our way."

"I don't see Mr. Queen," she told him as she took a few tentative steps towards the bar. "There is only a blonde woman that is tending the bar and a darker haired woman talking to a man in a black dress shirt by the staff door."

"You can give the package to the bartender," Slade assured her in that same honeyed voice he'd used when telling her to mind her business. "She will make sure that it gets to Mr. Queen."

"All right," she said as she slowly edged away from the staircase. She'd just taken three steps when a figure came from out of nowhere and blocked her path. Startled, Sienna lurched back with a sharp gasp.

"Sienna?" Slade's voice was sharp with concern. "What is it?"

Sienna didn't reply. Her gaze was fixated upon the feet of the man who was blocking her way. Sweat popped out, cold and clammy, over her skin. It was taking every ounce of her willpower to not turn tail and run.

"I'm sorry, Miss," she heard the man saying in a rich tone. "I didn't mean to nearly run you over. Are you okay?"

Sienna took a moment to gather together her wits before she lifted her head and found herself staring into the slightly sheepish (but carved from stone she saw) face of Oliver Queen.

"M-Mr. Queen?" she stammered, feeling a scorching heat creeping up into her cheeks.

* * *

"Yes?" A tight, but polite smile curved Oliver's lips as he peered down into the startled eyes that were staring up at him. She looked like the fly caught in the spider's web. Her eyes held a look to them that Oliver knew all too well. It was the same look he'd seen the first time that he saw his own reflection staring back at him in a mirror. He tried to plaster a gentler smile upon his face in order to settle her apparent nerves, but figured by the way she flinched that it must have come out more as a sneer than a smile. _Way to go, Ollie,_ he chastised himself silently. "Can I help you with something, Miss?"

"N-no," she replied before turning an even more embarrassed shade of red and quickly stuttering, "I mean y-yes! Y-yes, you can-" she jumped when a couple of men scooted around them and headed towards the bar. "Yes," she said once she'd again collected herself. "Yes, you can help me."

Oliver had been watching her face when the men had drawn abreast of her. _She's definitely afraid of men_, he thought with a frown. Her eyes had a glassy, faraway look to them, and her face was shadowed by something he couldn't quite define. It was the look of the hunted, he realized with a start. More people moved around them and he saw her shudder; heard her breath rattling out from between her teeth. He couldn't stand it, couldn't stand to see her standing there, trembling with fear, her face bone white.

"Hey now," he said, stepping towards her. "You're..."

"No! Stay back!" She stumbled back, dropping the brightly wrapped package she'd been holding in one hand, and raising her hands up as if to keep him from grabbing hold of her. "Don't hurt me! Please!"

"I'm not going to hurt you, Miss." Oliver's voice was ripe with sympathy. People noticed the situation and began to creep closer in order to find out what was going on. It was not something that he suspected would help to alleviate the panic he saw stamped upon her face. "Get back!" he snapped at the group of onlookers. He saw Roy standing next to his sister Thea on the edge of the dance floor and signaled to him. "Roy, she doesn't need to be crowded in at this moment. Can you help get the crowd back, please?"

"Yeah, sure thing, man," Roy said softly before turning towards the crowd and barking, "You heard him. Everybody get back!"

Oliver turned back towards the silent brunette. "I'd like you to come with me now." He held out his hand to her. "All right? Can you do that?"

She shook her head. "I just want to leave," she whispered in a small, breathy voice.

"Okay," Oliver said. "We can leave. Go somewhere quiet if you want."

It didn't seem like she heard him though. "Oh, I knew this was a mistake when he asked me to do it," she was muttering. "I knew I wasn't ready to come into a nightclub. But I promised Slade I'd deliver his present to you. And I _hate_ breaking promises to him..."

Oliver's face went deathly still at the sound of _that_ name falling from her lips. "Slade?" he asked hoarsely. Emotions surged, anger and hate prevalent of all of them. "Slade Wilson sent you?"

She indicated the box which was perched by his left foot. "He wanted me to give that to you."

Oliver bent and picked up the box, his eyes never leaving hers. "Did he tell you why he wanted you to give this to me?" He spoke calmly, but even then he could hear the sharp edge to his tone. He tried to temper his reaction, told himself that she was merely a pawn in Slade Wilson's game. "Did he give you a message to give to me?"

"He hopes that the present will serve to smooth over the problems between you," she replied in a dull monotone. "As well as remind you of the promise that he made you five years ago."

Oliver looked down at the box in his hand before looking again at the woman, but she'd already begun making her way to the exit. Oliver let her leave; telling himself that his war wasn't with her, but the man who'd sent her.


	3. Fire and Ice

**A/N:** Hello m'dears… I hope the week has been a good one to you!

Please, if you like this story, click the follow/favorite button. Also, reviews are deeply cherished!

* * *

With a last terrified glance over her shoulder, Sienna bolted out of the club. She forced herself not to run. When you run, people tend to notice you, and they start to wonder. Then they would begin trying to stop you, offering to help, and asking questions that you just couldn't bring yourself to answer. Blending in was critical. It was essential. She knew she could do nothing that might draw attention to herself. _Or to Slade_. But even as she ordered herself to breathe slow and steady, the air wheezed in her lungs, lodged there until she was gulping for every breath she drew.

_How can you humiliate Slade like this? Have you no shame_?

On and on the voices went, taunting her, laughing at her, calling her the coward she knew that she was. Sweat bubbled on her skin, and she could smell her own fear. The edges of her vision blurred, burned as she scrambled past a sea of faceless people waiting to enter the club. She was so desperate to get away that she almost ran headlong into Slade. She screeched to a halt a second before colliding with him. _Oh, God_... She just wanted to crawl into a hole, to curl up in a ball and whimper like a baby. It was the small, pitiful sounds coming from her throat that had her lifting up eyes that were still glassy to his face.

Slade laid his hands upon her shoulders, squeezing them gently before saying in that velvety baritone, "Sienna, you're safe now, love."

"N-no," she countered in a tremulous voice. "N-no, I'm not."

One dark brow lifted. "You are not safe when you are with me?"

She was not safe when she was with him? Was he kidding? A gurgle of hysterical laughter bubbled in her throat. She wanted to shout at him that the only time she ever felt safe was when she was with him. The only thing she wanted was to be with him. She tried to articulate that want, to give that desire a voice, but all she managed to do was nod her head in one quick, jerky motion.

Slade smiled. "So long as you are with me, then you are all right." He reached up to tuck a flyaway curl behind her ear. "Are you not?"

"Y-yes." But she wasn't all right and they both knew it. She wasn't even anywhere near being _just okay_. Not when panic was still an icy poker jabbing through her belly. "I'm sorry, Slade," she said miserably. "I let you down by giving into my cowardice."

"It is I who let you down tonight, little one."

Sienna just looked at him, her brow knitted in a frown. Why was he thinking that he let _her_ down? she wondered. He'd done nothing but _ask_ her to try and rise above her fear of crowds (and men) and help him by delivering a gift to his friend. A gift, she realized now as humiliation reached up to smother her fear, that she'd only managed to deliver by the sheerest of dumb luck. "You di..."

"Yes, I did." Slade watched as a thousand thoughts and emotions crashed across her face. Mortification and guilt, disgust and self-hatred, confusion and that slowly receding panic all broke like waves over those creamy shores. He reached up to stroke her cheek lightly with his thumb. "I should never have pushed you to go into _Verdant_." Sienna saw a flash of something-regret? Flash across his face. She suspected his guilt stemmed from having pushed her into challenging herself. She went to open her mouth, to remind him that she'd wanted to do this for him, that she'd chosen to do this because he'd asked it of her, but his next words stopped her words of reassurance instantly. "I should have listened when you said that you weren't ready to be among so many people. And," his voice dropped an octave and the low, intimate quality skittered along senses already raw. "I should have come for you the moment you began showing signs of needing me. And for that, little one," his hand cupped her cheek, briefly, "I am sorry."

Sienna closed her eyes and turned her face into his hand, absorbing the wondrous feeling of his hand upon her flesh. The sensation was heady, intoxicating. She warned herself that it was dangerous to want this-to want _him_. They could never be the lovers that her overactive imagination (or Marta) frequently fantasized them as being. But oh! she had craved a moment like this one for such a very long time. To feel the roughness of his flesh on hers was like getting that one desired present for Christmas.

"Don't be sorry," she finally said in a voice she almost recognized as belonging to _that_ woman. It was smokier, sultrier than her current speaking voice. She almost remembered using it when in the company of other men she'd found attractive. _Almost_. "I didn't say I needed you. You said you'd come if I said that I needed you." She opened her eyes, smiled a smile she had no way of knowing cast her face in a glow he found wondrous. Dazzling. A glow he, cold-hearted bastard that he was, would have moved Heaven and Earth to see again and again. "I didn't say it, Slade."

"No," he agreed with a slight incline of his head. "You did not say you needed me, little one."

"So we can call it progress." Her nose wrinkled with distaste. "Of the lowest sort, of course, but progress nonetheless."

"It is progress," he admonished gently. "And you should not take it so lightly, nor dismiss it so casually." Then he settled a hand, warm and familiar on her lower back, said, "Now, come, let us go to dinner."

Sienna nodded and allowed him to lead her towards the black luxury car parked at the curb. A swarthy man in a chauffeur's cap came around to open the passenger side door. Sienna was about to slide into the car when she felt Slade's body go taut as a string against hers. She turned in the circle of his arm and cast a glance at his face. She had never seen it blaze with such hatred before. It was an alive, intangible force, almost reaching out, touching her and burning with its intensity. Even as she quaked beneath the raw, primitive hunger she saw prowling through his eye, she had a strange compulsion to stroke his face. A reactive urge to soothe him, to put out that conflagration came over. She set her hand on his arm; felt the way the muscles coiled and tensed beneath her palm.

"Slade?" she asked cautiously. "What is it? What's wrong?"

At first, he ignored her. His gaze remained locked upon what-or _who_, had managed to snare his attention. Sienna glanced over her shoulder and saw that Oliver Queen was standing less than five feet from them. His face could have been carved from granite. The same dark tidings swirled in his blue gaze that she saw in Slade's. There was something not right between these two men. She just couldn't figure out what that _something_ was. The tension between them was so intense that it was like an electric current was stinging the air. Sienna could feel the hair on her arms and the back of her neck crackle with it. Afraid there would be a scene she tried to draw Slade's attention to her by saying, "Slade?" in as firm a voice as she could muster. "I want to go home. _Now_, please."

His reaction was instant. Slade's gaze shifted, pinned her, and even as the heat of it caused her heart to stumble over itself, she slid her fingers to his cheek. What glittered in that one eye, though, was unlike anything she'd ever seen before. It was darker, hungrier, something almost predatory in nature. Sienna shrank away from it, from _him_, suddenly unsettled at seeing this side of him. But then the storm clouds lifted and his expression relaxed into the one she was more familiar with seeing. He bent his head and murmured in her ear, "I am sorry for frightening you, love."

She shivered, struggled to pull her scattering wits back together. "W-why are you so angry? I thought…" she swallowed. "I thought he was your friend?"

"Later," he told her. "I promise that I will explain all of this to you later. Now, please, get in the car, Sienna."

Sienna slid into the car without any hesitation. He climbed in with her a few seconds later, but not before giving his old friend a look that promised retribution. "Drive," he ordered the driver as he settled back in the seat.

* * *

Oliver was unable to do anything but stand there and watch as the car bearing Slade Wilson and the strange brunette woman drove off into the night. His fists bunched at his sides as irritation pulsed through his body. He coiled, ready to launch himself across the mere feet separating him from his former friend. He ordered himself to stand down, told himself that why he could not engage Slade in a fight right then and there because there were people currently awaiting entrance into the club. People would notice if Oliver Queen suddenly leapt at the well-dressed man and punched him in the face. People would talk about what they saw with other people. He could not afford to do anything that even remotely connected him to the Arrow. It would only bring suspicions and attention he did not need at that moment if he did. So he did nothing, said nothing that would cause war to erupt between he and his former friend.

Just because he was incapable of action did not mean he was inactive, though. Oliver used the time to think. He could freely admit that his thoughts and emotions were being tossed all over the spectrum at that moment. The brief interaction he had with the woman had left him twisted in knots of confusion. Everything inside Oliver was screaming at him that she was not his enemy. The panic attack she'd suffered in his prescience had not been faked. Nobody was that good of an actor that they could pretend a reaction such as hers had been. She'd clearly suffered some sort of psychological trauma and was still reeling from its aftereffects. The question which was at the forefront of his mind, the one which sat on top of the thousand others streaking through his mind like a runaway steam engine was: _what_? All of those questions ceased to matter as soon as he saw the way she interacted with Slade Wilson outside the club.

Something he'd assumed to be long dead and buried inside of Slade had risen the moment she'd lifted those wounded eyes to his. Oliver thought he was mistaken at first. He told himself there was no way he was seeing what he thought he was seeing. Yet as he watched the two together, Oliver realized this wasn't a wish being made by a heart weary with sorrow and heavy in regret._ No, this_, he realized, was a glimpse of a specter straight from out of the past.

This was a reminder of the man Slade Wilson had once been. This was the _brother_ who'd taken him beneath his wing. This was the _mentor_ who'd helped train him. This was the _friend_ who'd walked the long road of self-discovery with him. This was the _partner_ who'd helped him plan (albeit, unwillingly at first) how they'd escape the island, rescue Yaoi Fei, and stop Edward Fyers and Ivo both from accomplishing their intended agendas. This was the man he'd known before the _Mirakuru_ poisoned his mind and hatred hardened his heart. This was the man he had been prior to the death of Shado. This was the morally just man, the one who would risk his life to save those he cared about, who was loyal almost to a fault and who bowed to no man (no matter the tortures inflicted upon him.).

Watching them together, seeing the way that Slade's face softened as he spoke to her, Oliver found himself again wondering who the woman was. Slade lifted his hand, cupped her cheek, and there was such a gentleness about the maneuver that it made Ollie wonder if he was dreaming this entire conflict with Slade up. There was a wealth of tenderness in the way he touched the woman, the slight sweep of his thumb over that sculpted cheek not leaving so much as an indentation in the smooth flesh. He treated her as if she was something fragile, delicate, and easily broken.

_Like a porcelain doll_.

The spell was broken as soon as Slade saw him. That cold and rage-filled mask he habitually wore fell back into place. However, there was something else that Oliver saw, a minute shifting of his body that spoke volumes as to the relationship between the two. It was like watching a snake coil it's body around its prey. And yet, Oliver suspected that this was less Slade curling his body around the woman's because she was his next meal and more because he was protecting her from _him_.

Had he not known how Slade felt towards Shado, about his feeling of having failed to protect her, he might have laughed. However, when he thought about it, when he _really _thought about it, he realized that everything linked back to her. Shado was the beginning of everything with Slade. Just as she was the end for him as well. It was Slade's guilt, his grief, that threw him over sanity's edge. Oliver knew how it felt, living on after being unable to save someone you loved. For him, the idea was unbearable. Just the thought of losing any member of his family was enough to send him to his knees.

The woman must have sensed that something was wrong. She looked over her shoulder and her eyes widened at the sight of him. Oliver read her confusion, uncertainty and fear before her eyes flew back to Slade's face, studying it. It was clear she knew nothing of the situation between her boss and him (and that made her delivering Slade's gift even more interesting in Oliver's mind). Then she said, "Slade?" in a voice that while firmer than the one she'd used in the club, was still thin and reedy. "I want to go home. _Now_, please."

Somehow, it worked to get his attention. Slade's gaze shifted, raked her. Even as Oliver saw her flinch beneath the weight of that penetrating stare, she slid visibly trembling fingers to his cheek, skimmed them over his swarthy flesh in a caress as gentle as the breeze kicking up. It was clear she'd never seen this side of her boss before. It was clear by how she shrunk away that she was unsettled by this more animalistic side of him. Then Slade's expression softened and he slanted his head, murmuring something in her ear that Oliver could not hear. He saw the woman nod and slide into the car (which he suspected Slade request she do). He climbed in after her, but not before giving Oliver a look that was black with a promise of retribution. There was also a clear warning about staying away from the woman stamped in that gaze. Then the car drove off and Oliver found himself standing there, watching and wondering about what the hell had just happened.

"Oliver?" he heard Diggle ask from behind him. "What the hell is going on here, man? Who was that woman with Slade Wilson?"

He turned to look at his friend. He opened his mouth to reply, but found that he didn't have the answers that he knew Diggle was wanting. "I don't know," he finally settled on saying. "I don't know who she is or why Slade sent her here. But," he grimaced, before he turned to walk back into the club. "I plan on finding out."

* * *

The majority of the drive back to the penthouse was spent in silence. _All right_, Sienna thought. _Say something to him. Apologize for interfering in his affairs, for manipulating him as you did and assure him you'll never do it again_. _She _was capable of doing that. _That _woman certainly wouldn't. She'd merely toss her head and fix him with a smirk that would have dared him to do something about it. _That _woman would have played with fire because she would want to feel the burn, the sting, the rush that flooded the senses. Arguments to that woman were just her brand of flirting. The woman Sienna was now, however, found the prospect of arguing with Slade to be absolutely _terrifying_. She settled back into the buttery leather, calculating how much time they had before they'd pull into the underground parking garage and trying to decide how best to apologize to the man who was all but vibrating next to her.

"I know you are very angry with me for what I did," Sienna said when the weight of the silence finally became too much for her to bear. "I can only say I am sorry." Her fingers curled into the folds of her dress. "And I promise you that it will never happen again."

Slade said nothing. Sienna darted a glance at his face and saw that it was carefully, neutrally blank. Sienna felt the arms of misery close about her, offering her much needed solace and support. They only brought her a cold comfort at best. Deciding to leave well enough alone, she sat back to wait out the rest of ride. And when they drove through the gates of the local marina, she tensed up. She studied the small yacht bobbing in the water with great trepidation. "Wh-what are we doing here?" she asked in a strangled voice.

"Having dinner." Slade got out and held out a hand to help her from the car. "I did promise to take you to dinner after you delivered my package to Mr. Queen, love."

Sienna didn't know what to think, much less to say. She had assumed (erroneously apparently) that after what had happened that they'd return to the penthouse and he'd be done with her for the rest of the evening. That he wasn't dumping her off at some dark corner and telling her she was on her own made her so ridiculously happy that she wanted to slap herself. However, it gave her hope that they would be able to work through her earlier faux pas. She lifted her hand, set it in his, and felt his fingers close warm and gently around hers.

Slade could read her confusion, watched the flicker of uncertainty, and saw the echo of raw vulnerability which flashed across her face; through her eyes. He knew she wanted reassurances from him. He understood that she deserved some answers after what she'd seen. He was merely waiting for when they were alone before he would explain his relationship with Oliver Queen. He tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow before leading her onto the boat.

A white cloth had been spread over a low table on the back observation deck. It was surrounded by rope lights casting off a soft glow, and pillows in jeweled shades and rich fabrics. Beside it was a bouquet overflowing with yellow roses, honeysuckle, and sprigs of jasmine. He lifted it. "For you."

Sienna studied the flowers, then his face. Her lips crooked at the corners. "You had help from Marta, didn't you?"

"Why do you think that I needed Marta's help in selecting flowers?" he asked, holding the bouquet out to her until she took it.

"You are a man of many specialties, Slade," she said, sniffing at the fragrant blooms. "But I somehow doubt that botany is among your list of talents." She graced him then with a small, shy smile. "Thank you, though. They're lovely. But," she indicated the deck with the sweep of a hand, "what is all this, though?"

"I thought we'd have a dinner cruise. Call it a compromise between a public and private outing."

"You did this so I wouldn't feel overwhelmed and have an anxiety attack." She grimaced. "Well, another one considering the meltdown I already had this evening."

"Yes." He reached up to touch her cheek. "And I am sorry for having asked so much of you tonight, little one."

She reached up to set her hand atop his. "You didn't ask me for anything that I wasn't willing to give you, Slade. I am only sorry..."

"Hush," he crooned in that silky smooth tone that made her belly curl. "You have nothing to be sorry for, Sienna."

She shook her head. "I interfered..."

"You prevented an unnecessary scene."

"I mani-"

He laid his fingers against her lips, effectively silencing her. "You did what was necessary to remind me that I was in a public setting and could not afford to lose my temper."

"Pe-people would have noticed," she murmured against his fingers. "I kn-knew blending in was critical. That it was essential." The words tumbled faster now, more harried. As if she was trying to justify why she'd done what she did to both herself, and to him. "I knew you could do nothing that might draw attention to yourself. Not without it damaging everything you came to Starling hoping to accomplish."

"Enough, Sienna," He commanded gently. "I am not angry with you for what you did, or about what you said. You were right to act as you did."

His thumb skimmed over her bottom lip, shooting flashes of white-hot heat, and curls of keen-edged longing lancing through her system. Slade felt the soft sigh that billowed out from between those slightly parted lips. Her eyes had a dreamy, slightly unfocused look about them. He bet that if he closed his fingers around her wrist he'd find her pulse was racing a mile a minute. He settled his hand on her shoulder, slid it down her arm to take hers, and felt the shiver she was not quite able to hide from him. He'd realized a few months ago that his little dove was this fascinating combination of fire Maiden and ice Queen. He'd been witness to the aloofness of the frost woman. Her fear and uncertainty had kept her hidden in the shadows. A thaw had set in lately, though, and allowed him glimpses of the woman asleep beneath the snow. He wondered if tonight would melt the heart of the Queen and allow the Maiden to awaken from her slumber.

"Shall we have a glass of wine and talk while waiting for dinner to be served?"

Sienna found she could do little more than nod. She sat down on one of the pillows, put the bouquet of flowers beside her, and watched him pour champagne into two flutes. Only briefly did she remember what that woman would have done had she found herself in the spot she was currently in. That woman would have willingly allowed herself to be seduced by a man like Slade Wilson.

But she wasn't that woman anymore, she sternly reminded herself.

That woman was dead. Gone. Buried.

Right?

Sienna realized as he came walking towards her that she no longer knew that answer.


	4. Desire

**A/N:** Hello m'dears… I hope the week has been a good one to you!

Please, if you like this story, click the follow/favorite button. Also, reviews are deeply cherished!

**S/N:** Just a small side note, yes, this chapter is crossing territory between T and M. I thought about bumping it up to M, but really, I'm not going into detail so I'll just specify that there's a sexual situation in this chapter.

* * *

Slade worked steadily for the next month. There was little (in his opinion) that satisfied him more than watching as Oliver Queen's entire world came apart at the seams. Causing the kid's biosphere to come crashing down around him churned in his gut with a kind of primal zing. It brought him an endless amount of satisfaction to know he'd struck a mortal blow against his former friend; his brother. He'd literally managed to rip the rug right out from underneath the kid's feet. And he'd done it with a minimal amount of effort required.

In the matter of just a few short weeks, he'd kidnapped Oliver's pretty little sister, Thea (as well as revealed to the young woman the secret her sainted brother had been keeping from her), publicly disgraced Officer Quentin Lance (father of Sara Lance), taken over Queen Consolidated with the help of Isabel Rochev (a more than willing co-conspirator), acquired a new batch of samples for his serum to be tested upon, broke apart the members of Team Arrow, and informed the pretty little District Attorney about just who the man beneath the green hood was.

Everything was coming together exactly as he'd planned it.

His days and nights began to blur together once he set the chain of events into motion. In the mornings he chaired board meetings at Queen Consolidated and oversaw the mass production of the serum that would produce him an unstoppable army of super soldiers. He was also present in the afternoons for each of the phases the _Mirakuru_ was put through before it was deemed as ready for final testing stage (which he oversaw as well). The only thing that Slade was now regretting was how much of his plan was interfering with him spending time with Sienna. He made a concentrated effort every morning, before he headed off to the meetings that Blood and Isabel expected him to attend, to try and catch her alone.

In the last four weeks that had managed to work all of _twice_.

He had taken to pouring himself a drink in the evening in hopes that Sienna would come into his office and grace him with one of those shy little smiles he found so soothing. He'd come to appreciate her quiet demeanor and ways even more. He'd come to realize just how important a part of his life that his dove had become. The night they'd spent onboard his yacht revealed that Sienna was the calm inside his storm. She was the light inside his darkness, the music inside his silence and the summer to his winter. He found that when he was with her that the beast who was alive inside of him, slept. That monster always laughing at him, taunting him, hurling insults at him stopped churning. With her he was able to think about something other than vengeance for five fucking minutes. With Sienna he was the man he'd been... _before_. He was the Slade Wilson he'd been before the _Mirakuru_, before Shado's death, before his so-called_ brother's_ betrayal.

Before he'd become… _Deathstroke_.

Yet, in those four weeks, he routinely found himself denied even the one small bit of pleasure (beyond torturing the kid, of course) that he allowed himself. In the last thirty days he'd barely managed to spend more than two or three minutes alone with her. Even those few precious moments he managed to steal were lacking in the quality time he desired. Most of their brief conversations consisted of him giving her a list of tasks or assignments that he needed her to do for him. Touches were limited to the slight brushes of their fingertips as they handed papers to each other. Any time he did manage to catch his little dove alone for more than five or six minutes, either Isabel, Sebastian or another of his idiot minions came along to interrupt them, demanding his immediate attention and taxing his very _limited _supply of patience.

That morning his tether had snapped. He'd finally managed to corner Sienna in the hallway outside their bedrooms. He'd been in need of her soothing touch; craved it. He'd been as randy and impatient as a teenager, and just as fumbling. Then Isabel showed up and reminded him about how he was needed at the labs that afternoon. Slade had been about ready to go on a killing spree.

Before he'd stormed from the apartment he'd requested Marta prepare a special dinner (Sienna's favorite), and have it set out on the rooftop garden at exactly seven that evening. Marta had complied (as he'd known the woman would) and he'd spent the entire evening seated beside a roaring fire with Sienna. There'd been a standing order (of death) that they were not to be disturbed, no matter what the reasons were. It had been a desperately needed evening.

He'd fallen asleep with his head full of thoughts about his dove, and drifted into dreams of her. Full-bodied dreams where Sienna lay beneath him, moving under him, against him. Damp skin, like liquid gold, slid over ivory. Dark chocolate eyes widened, and swollen red lips, parted. He could hear the sound of her breath, the catch and release, the soft gasps. He smelled her, that siren's scent of jasmine and vanilla that made him think of forbidden dances and hot Arabian nights. He woke with his muscles quivering, and his body aching for her. So vivid was the dream, he half expected to turn his head and find Sienna curled up against his side. He snarled when he found himself alone.

Throwing back the covers, he rose, naked, and stalked into the bathroom. He grabbed one of the towels from the shelf before slapping on the water in the shower, running it cold in order to stop the magma flooding through his veins and scorching his every nerve ending. He showered, dressed in loose fitting cotton workout pants and padded out of his bedroom on silent feet. It did not bother him that he was dreaming _about_ sex. It bothered him that all he could do was _dream_ about sex.

"She is not the woman that I am," he heard _her_ say in a low murmur. "She is weak, pathetic."

He stopped, but did not turn. A trickle of air blew across his skin, prickling it. He ignored it, and the cold fingers that skimmed along the underside of his left arm, over his back, settled down his right arm.

"You're wrong," he told her softly. "Sienna is neither weak, nor pathetic."

"She is distracting you," she said in a low, husky murmur. "Preventing you from making Oliver fully pay for what he did to me."

"Sienna has not distracted me," he denied. "She has promised to not interfere with my vendetta against him."

"Five years ago _you_ made _me_ a promise," there was a veiled accusation in her tone, and a bitter anger. "Have you forgotten the vow you made to me?"

"I know exactly what I promised you, Shado."

It was silent for a number of moments. Slade assumed (or maybe it was he hoped. He honestly was not sure which at this point) that she had faded off into the background now that she was done with him. But then he heard her muse, "I wonder," in a soft voice. "Is what you feel for this woman nothing more than you having transferred your feelings for me onto her?"

"You are to leave Sienna out of this," he warned in one dark rumble. "She has nothing to do with this."

He felt a billow of air, like breath, blow across his ear. "Do you think you can save her as you failed to save me?"

In the silence of the front hall, his low moan, much like that of a wounded cougar, echoed like a gunshot. His hands trembled, quaked with an almost violent need to strike something-anything. Deliberately, he balled them into fists at his side. He considered throwing the small table by the entryway in hopes the sound it would make would bring Sienna out of her bedroom to investigate. He desperately wanted to see her angelic face peeking out from around the corner, those dark eyes like melted chocolate as they met his. He wanted to hear that voice which was like melted butter ask him, "are you all right?" before she glided towards him. He trembled with a nearly overwhelming want to drop to his knees and bury his face against her flat stomach, to feel those small, knowledgeable fingers stroking through his hair, across the muscles taut as razor wire along the back of his neck. Goddamn it, he wanted to be stroked and soothed, to be pampered and petted, to be bloody well cuddled and coddled!

Anger surged and he grabbed the edge of the table, started to yank it towards him. His breath came in one long, hard pant. The low, wet hiss of it whistled out from between his clenched teeth. He stopped when he heard a soft sound coming from the other end of the long entrance hall. Was that..._music_? He paused to listen. Sure enough, he could hear the unmistakable strains of Hans Zimmer playing. _Swords Crossed_, he thought as he followed the sound of the pounding drums and crashing cymbals to his office door. He thought it fitting. He reached out, grasped the handle and gave it a twist before slowly pushing the door open. It opened without making a sound. He stepped in the darkened room, immediately searching for the woman he knew was up and _working_ (of all things) at this late hour.

He found her standing in front of one of the metal filing cabinets. Her nimble fingers were racing through the hundreds of files for the specific one she was searching for at a rate of speed any race car driver would approve of. A small smile graced his lips as he leaned against the cabinet on his left, folding his arms across his chest as he took in her appearance. That tousled mane of gypsy hair curling down her back and those sleep flushed features all testified that, like him, she'd been asleep at some point. He didn't know what might have awoken her. A part of him, that deep and dark part he kept contained, wondered if she was being haunted by the same dreams he was being plagued by.

He damn sure hoped so.

He shoved away from the wall and slowly made his way towards her. He was in hunter mode; all he needed to do now that he'd located his prey was capture her. Inwardly, his grin was the essence of predatory; outwardly, his expression said absolutely nothing at all.

"Sleepless night, love?"

Sienna let out a small, surprised shriek at the sound of that soft, silky voice. She spun on one foot to face him, fumbling the papers she held in her hand. She cursed as a few slipped out to land on the floor at their feet.

"Oh, damn it." She crouched down and scooped the papers up, but others began to tumble out onto the floor. She let out a frustrated breath as she started to gather those papers and stick them back into the manila folders, but Slade merely reached out and took the folders from her. She glanced up, her confusion feathering her brow. Her eyes widened in shock when he flung the folders towards his desk, absolutely not caring about how the paperwork rained down upon the hardwood floor in colorful disarray.

She looked first at the mess, then him. There was a mystified look to her face that he found amusing. Then her expression relaxed into that quietly intense one he favored, and her lips curved up into that shyly sweet smile he had been hungering to see for weeks.

"Well," she said as she slowly rose to her feet in a rustle of silk. "I guess I really did not want to have a look at those papers tonight."

"You should not be working this late." Flashes of his earlier dream flashed behind his eyes; _Sienna beneath him, moving under him, against him. Damp skin, like liquid gold, slid over ivory. _ His blood bubbled to a boiling point. She stayed where she was when he shifted closer to her, caging her in by laying his hands on the filing cabinets on either side of her. "What sort of boss would have an angel like you working at this time of night?"

"Currently," she quipped. "The boss who is wearing an eye patch but no shirt or boots."

His lips twitched at her jest. "I'm a pirate, remember?" he purred.

"Are you now?" Sienna's eyes sparked with mischief as her arms circled his neck. In the last few weeks she'd come to realize that Slade Wilson was a man of ever changing moods and who wore many different masks (including that black and orange one she'd found by accident). The events which had occurred outside of _Verdant_ had shown her there was a whole other side to the man currently pressed against her. Which was why when she spoke next, she kept up the lighthearted and playful banter that was between them. She liked this version of him the most, the one which was prone to indulging and teasing, to soothing and comforting, to seduction and romance.

"And yet, you are missing the earring, the cutlass and the parrot." Her lips shivered, and her eyes glowed with her mirth. "What sort of respectable pirate are you without your effects, Slade?"

"Ah," Slade said, his lips curving into a wolfish smile. "But who says I'm _respectable_, love?"

Surreptitiously, Sienna studied him. His profile wasn't perfect. His dark hair was still damp from his shower and there was a patch of silver at his temples that her fingers just itched to run through. She contented herself by skimming her fingers over the back of his neck. His nose was straight, the nostrils slightly flared, his face smooth except for a few faint lines at the corner of his one eye. His mouth she'd found could smile cruelly, or sensually. He hadn't shaved, and the shadow of stubble along his jaw and over those angular cheeks turned what was already an arresting face into something edgy. Sexy.

It was the look in his eye that was her ultimate undoing, though. She was lost, scorched by the naked emotions she glimpsed lurking within that black pool. That eye was burning with a restless intensity, with a familiar emptiness she recognized as loneliness, and a primal hunger which left her knees wobbly and her pulse kicking like a wild broncos.

When she'd found him behind her, she'd instantly recognized the restlessness, but she'd never met anything like the hunger that prowled within him. It was alive, a tangible and almost animalistic being that reached out and touched her, compelling her to touch it, to satiate it. There was a pull deep in her belly, a reactive urge to comfort him, to bring him surcease, to ease the longing. It was, she knew, a purely instinctive and biological response. Damaged she might be, Sienna was still a woman full grown. She knew desire when she saw it, felt it. It was why, when the shimmer of want came, she didn't try to fight it. No, she reached for it, stepped towards it, into it. _To hell with the consequences_.

"You're a respectable pirate when you're with me." She laid a hand on his heart. Though she couldn't feel it beating against her palm, she saw the pulse of it in his eye. "You have never been anything but a gentleman with me."

"Only _with_ you," he rumbled. "And it is only _for_ you, Sienna."

"And only with you am I not afraid," she said softly. "Only with you do I remember me." Her smile grew soft, distinctively feminine. "With you I can be that woman I was before I was kidnapped, drugged, nearly sold into prostitution. With you I am that woman who wouldn't think it inappropriate for her boss to kiss her."

"Is that..." he leaned in, his lips barely an inch from her own, "an invitation, love?"

Sienna quite liked the way he kissed her without quite kissing her, the way he held her without really holding her. She frequently wondered what it'd be like if he'd ever thoroughly do both. It was something she'd been thinking about a lot in the last few weeks. When his civilized mask had fallen outside _Verdant_, she'd been unnerved, unsettled. Yet, the moment that they'd boarded the yacht, she'd glimpsed what was hiding beneath both the sophisticated and uncivilized masks he switched between wearing. There was a good man beneath the poison and mass amounts of hate and grief. She ached to help that man. She'd decided to heal that man. Same as that man was helping to restore that woman she once had been, she'd aid him in finding that man he'd once been.

"Now what sort of lady _gives_ a pirate permission to seduce her?" she asked him in a low, husky voice.

His lips curved against hers. "A very wise one."

* * *

Granted, staring at a computer screen was an activity that just about ninety percent of the free world all actively engaged in. Yet, Sebastian Blood wasn't checking his email, or surfing the social media websites that were so popular nowadays, or watching hilarious spoof videos on YouTube. Oh no. He was currently watching live video footage shot from inside Slade Wilson's penthouse office suite. His lips curved as he watched the James woman moving about the barely illuminated office. Utilizing the very micro-camera's Wilson had set up in order to spy on his employees (and to ensure the safety of the James woman, he assumed), they'd split the feed so that while Wilson was watching _them_, they could watch _him_.

This, he acknowledged as the James woman knelt to comb through one of the lower filing cabinets for whatever she was busily searching for, had been one of the best ideas that Brother Truth had ever had (next to killing the woman if she proved to be more trouble than worth). Indeed, the video feed not only allowed them to keep abreast of their ruthless leader's activities, but to keep tabs upon how much of their plans his precious "little one" (God, that endearment made him retch!) was able to uncover. The damned woman had managed to uncover a trail. It seemed they would need to execute Truth's plan to dispose of a Sienna James much sooner than they had planned.

His attention was transfixed as he then saw that panther-like figure slide against hers. He watched him lift his hand to the woman's cheek. It was only the slightest of movements, merely a subtle turn of his wrist really, but it was enough that it allowed him to graze his knuckles along the curve of that silky flesh. It sickened him that a man such as Slade Wilson was being gifted with one of those rare, enigmatic smiles of hers. She allowed this man the use and privilege of her body (while denying those same rights to men such as him). Those muddy eyes were gazing up at the man as if _he_ was some sort of _hero_. _Him_! A mass murdering psychopath who had laid hundreds of bodies to waste was being treated as if he was some sort of God!

Sebastian found that he could ignore his anger, but discovered it wasn't quite as simple to ignore the little prick that might have been jealousy. His teeth gnashed, and his hands clenched upon the edge of his desk. He might have sat there, watching the couple, planning all the ways he would punish them, but Slade then lifted her. Simply scooped her up, he realized, and stood with her in his arms all in one effortless motion. Then he carried her from the room.

Hatred did a little jig in Sebastian's heart.

It was time to bring Slade Wilson to his knees. First, he would humble him; make the mercenary watch as he possessed his woman...

Then he'd kill him.

His smile was feral in the darkness.


	5. Promise me

**A/N:** Hello m'dears… I hope the week has been a good one to you!

Please, if you like this story, click the follow/favorite button. Also, reviews are deeply cherished!

* * *

"Have you managed to learn anything about the woman who was with Slade the night she delivered his package, Felicity?"

Felicity Smoak lifted her eyes away from the computer screen she'd been studying and turned them upon the man who was standing behind her. She took in the stress lines about his mouth and the dark smudges beneath his eyes and knew he'd had yet another sleepless night. It had been a little over a week since Slade Wilson unleashed hell upon Oliver, first by delivering a bloody arrow tip (which Felicity suspected was the one which cost him his eye) and then by systematically tearing the very ground out from beneath him. "I'm afraid not, Oliver," she said apologetically. "Her prints are not coming up in any police or government databank."

Oliver just sighed and folded his fingers over the soft material on the back of her chair. "She's not a ghost," he said with only a faint hint of frustration in his voice. "Damn it, she's someone..."

"_She's_ Sienna James," Diggle announced as he came strolling into the bunker. Oliver and Felicity turned their heads in order to look at him.

"Sienna?" Felicity said with a slight tilt to her lips. "Wow, totally glad to know that I'm not the only one with a mother who loved unusual baby names."

"How...?" Ollie started to ask before trailing off into a faint smile. _What a stupid question_, he mused silently. There was only one person that Diggle would think to go to and ask for help with something like this. "How is Lyla?" he asked instead.

"She's good, man," Diggle replied before he held up a small vanilla envelope in one hand. "Sends her regards as well as this."

Oliver's eyebrows shot up. "Was she able to find out anything other than that her name is Sienna James?"

Diggle handed the folder to Felicity. "Yup, she was able to find out that Miss James was reported missing sixteen months ago by her family."

"Missing?" Felicity said slowly as she took the folder and began thumbing through it. "Was she...yanno..." she paused, looked up, bubblegum pink lips trembling with the question she really didn't want to give a voice simply because of the sheer ramifications it carried. "Kidnapped by...?"

"Slade Wilson?" Diggle supplied with a slight shake of his head. "No." He heaved a sigh before folding his arms across his chest. "The police in Miami believed it was just a random kidnapping."

Felicity started. "And they just stopped investigating her disappearance?"

"They pretty much closed the case once it went cold," Diggle replied with a slight sniff that signified his internal thoughts about the shoddy police work.

"It doesn't sound like they put much effort into finding her in the first place."

"They just assumed that she was dead and her body buried somewhere out in the southern Everglades."

"But?" Oliver asked, turning to smile at him. "I smell the _but_ here, Dig."

"But," Dig stated with a smirk, "Lyla was able to dig a bit deeper and thinks Miss James was probably taken by a Russian human trafficking ring that was operating in Miami around the time she disappeared."

"Russian human traffickers?" Felicity twisted the words around on her tongue. They were foul tasting no matter how she turned it. "The kind who I assume like abducting women and children for the sole purpose of selling them into forced slavery?" She saw Diggle give a slow nod of his head. Her mouth popped open. "You're not serious, are you?"

"It seems that about the time she disappeared, thirty other women also turned up missing."

"_Thirty_ women?" Felicity and Ollie said in unison.

"How?" Ollie demanded. "How could thirty women end up disappearing and the police not suspect anything?"

"They did suspect something," Dig said. "When they connected how the women were all being taken as they exited local nightclubs."

"How does this tie Sienna James with Slade Wilson, though?" Felicity asked. "I mean, I know he has done a lot of things-most of them not really good. Well, almost all of the things he's done haven't been good," she rambled on in her normal nervous twitter. "Yet, I don't see him as being the kind of man who is into the selling or buying of women."

Oliver stared at the image on the computer screen of Slade in full Deathstroke attire. He tried to reconcile the brutal and blood-thirsty monster that was captured in that still image with the one of the well-dressed businessman he'd seen being attentive and protective of a panic-stricken woman outside _Verdant_. It wasn't as hard as he anticipated it to be. The Slade Wilson he'd known on the island had found the trafficking of women and children to be as abhorrent as the three of them were finding it. The old Slade, the one before the _Mirakuru_, would have brought hell down upon the peddlers and the buyers. He would have...

"Rescued her," he said in a soft, incredulous voice. He turned to look at Felicity and Diggle. "That's the connection between them. Slade _rescued_ her from the traffickers." _Rescued her as he couldn't rescue Shado_. The thought only dimly registered in the back of his mind. "When though?" he asked Diggle. "When did he rescue her? Was Lyla able to figure that out?" Only silently did Oliver acknowledge that why he wanted to know that information was because it would prove that the man that Slade Wilson once was, still existed. _He would not have rescued her if he was completely corrupted by the_ Mirakuru. _He would not keep her with him if she meant nothing to him_. _He wouldn't protect her if he didn't care for her. _

"Lyla believes that he probably rescued her about fourteen months ago."

"_Probably_?" Felicity repeated the word as if she'd never heard it before. "There's no definite answer as to when he rescued her?"

"No, there's not," came his somber reply. "However, there is evidence to suggest that is when it likely occurred. And," he added, "I even can tell you where."

"Where?" Oliver managed to ask a split second before Felicity could.

"Russia."

"Russia?" This time, they voiced the question in unison. Diggle just nodded his confirmation, a smile trembling upon his lips.

Oliver turned to pace towards the case where the Arrow's suit was hanging, waiting. He looked back over his shoulder, asking only, "How does Sienna being kidnapped by members of a Russian human trafficking ring connect with Slade?"

"Well," Diggle said, taking the folder he'd given Felicity and flipping through it until he came to the photograph that he'd stuck in the back. "Fourteen months ago, _Deathstroke_, as A.R.G.U.S was now calling him, was photographed leaving a private estate on the outskirts of St. Petersburg." He caught and held Oliver's eye before adding, "The house was being used by a black market auctioneer by the name of Sergei Tschlamanov."

"And Sienna was one of the items being put up for auction."

"That's what Lyla assumes," Diggle nodded. "Especially since," he turned the photo around so that they both could see it. "She believes the woman he's carrying here is Miss James."

Felicity put her hand to her mouth and breathed out a soft, "Oh..." as she studied the photo that Diggle held up. "Wow."

There was no mistaking who the masked man was. A hundred years could go by and she'd still easily remember that two-toned mask (as well as the man who wore it). But the sight of the clearly human bundle he carried in his arms, legs naked beneath the cloth covering her absolutely horrified Felicity. As a woman, she was appalled; disgusted. She silently vowed to up the amount of time she spent at the gym in order to be better equipped in case she ever found herself in this predicament. _This can happen to anybody_, _though_, she realized with a slight pang deep in her belly. Even the most equipped crime fighters could be defeated. She'd seen that with how often Ollie, Dig and Sara were injured. They could all be taken. Anytime. Anywhere. And from any place.

It was an absolutely terrifying thought.

Oliver stepped forward and took hold of the photograph. He knew only the general basics of the human trafficking ring. What he did know was that those women who were considered to be of the highest value on the black market were either sold on the auction block, or purchased by private buyers with deep pockets. Many of the women were force fed drugs to keep them amiable and malleable. Most women who were sold into sexual slavery were never heard from again. _Most die from drug overdoses within the first few days of their capture_, he thought, his stomach churning with acidic bile he knew was empowered by anger and disgust. The brief interaction he'd had with the woman had told him she deserved more than a life of never ending sexual degradation and whatever drugs her pimps forced into her body. His fingers tightened on the paper, crinkling it.

"She was not an animal," he rasped. "She deserved better than to be bought…"

"And she wasn't because Slade Wilson stopped it," Felicity cut in quietly. She reached up and gently removed the picture from his grasp. "Oliver, she survived."

"Most women don't," Dig added somberly. He'd seen the flash of anger and disgust on Oliver's face and understood it. He felt the same churning in his gut. "Many of them don't come back from their ordeal, man."

"And she only survived because Slade Wilson rescued her..."

"And that makes her..."

"Our most powerful weapon to use right now," a soft voice interjected. Everybody turned to watch as Sara Lance made her way down the stairs. "She's the one thing Slade clearly cares for. We can use that to lure him here. And then," she glanced over at Oliver. "We kill him."

"No," Oliver stated in a firm tone. "I won't use her."

"And why not?" Sara demanded in a firm voice. "She's the best weapon that we have against him. He won't risk hurting her."

"She's suffered enough, Sara."

"You need to stop wanting to play the hero, Ollie." Her eyes flashed for a moment with equal parts regret and frustration. "Slade Wilson has been hammering us on all sides for the last month. It's time we fight back."

"Not by using her," was Oliver's final statement before he spun and stalked from the room.

* * *

Slade was sitting on a bench in his private armory, lacing up his boots and mentally preparing himself for the events he'd planned for that evening (all of them specially designed to tighten the screws he'd stuck in Oliver Queen, of course) when he heard the light pattering of feet coming towards him. His body instantly coiled itself into attack mode and he whipped his head to the side... only to find out that it was Sienna padding towards him and not one of his useless underlings. His body unfurled itself, muscles relaxing as he watched her slowly approach the stand upon which his mask sat, waiting, and _watching_.

It was the first time she'd ever dared to enter his private domain. A part of him, the one which he kept carefully concealed from her, snapped and snarled at her intrusion into this, his inner sanctum. Yet the other part of him, the one which had made her queen of his domicile, was curious to see what all she would say, do. He quieted the dragon breathing fire along his nerve endings with a slash of ice charged patience as she reached out and picked up his mask, holding it almost reverently between her long, elegant fingers.

"I remember this," she murmured. Her right thumb skimmed over the smooth metal as if it was skin. Slade knew well what it felt like to have her fingers caress his flesh like that. Unbidden, images rose up to assault him, heating his blood and electrifying his senses. He shook his head and shoved the carnal images to the back of his mind. There'd be time later for indulgence, he silently told himself.

"I thought I had dreamt this... that I'd dreamt you." Her head tilted to the side as she studied the mask with eyes he knew were seeing a dark and terrible period of her life come back to haunt her. "I figured you were something that was being conjured by the drugs they'd injected in me right before they'd pushed me out onto that auction block." She glanced over at him and he saw the swirl of emotions that turned her eyes into twin obsidian pools. "A part of me wanted to laugh about how a hell-spawn was being sent to purchase me for the devil. But the other part of me?" A hard edge that he'd never heard before crept into her voice, flickered over her face. "It was hoping you were there to bring holy hell down upon those bastards for what they'd done to me and the others."

It was the first time Sienna had ever talked about the night he'd stormed into the basement of that auction house in St. Petersburg. He'd not been there to liberate the group of women and children who were being sold off to whoever the highest bidder was. His intended target had been a man by the name of Ivan Petrov. Then he'd seen this dark haired woman standing there in the middle of that stage, her face and body the color of chalk (minus the bruises that stood out in livid contrast against the paleness of her flesh) and her doe-like eyes dull and lifeless.

In that instant she'd reminded him of this white dove he'd found in his yard when he'd been a boy. Its eyes had been glazed over like hers, one wing badly broken and barely able to stand because of how weak it had become. Unlike his friends, who'd said to "kill the bird" and put it out of its "misery," he'd taken the dove into the house, nursed it back to health and then released it so it could soar wild and free along the great blue horizon once again. But he'd told himself that he was no longer a boy of ten and that he had more important things to do (like hunting down Oliver Queen and making him pay for the things he'd done) than rescuing some small slip of a woman. But then she'd raised her head and begged him in a small, fractured voice to "kill" her, "please."

Something had come awake inside of him at her desperately uttered words. It was like a beast had awoken from its slumber and was just frothing at the mouth to tear into the men (and women) who were partaking of her degradation and humiliation. None in that estate had been safe from his wrath. Blood had flowed like wine and their screams had become the sweetest melody he'd ever heard. When it was all over and done with, he'd returned to the basement, swept her up into his arms, and carried her out of hell. He'd never asked her about how much she remembered from that night (or from the two months she'd been held hostage, for that matter). And she'd never volunteered to tell him about what she did remember.

_Until now. _

Slade found himself wondering why that was. Even when he'd told her the basics about his time on the island, his feud with Oliver, Shado, and the serum which had brought him back to life, she'd not volunteered any personal information. Not for the first time did he find himself wondering about what all Sienna knew about his extracurricular activities, and was willfully choosing to say nothing about. She never questioned where he went when he left in the middle of the night, what he was doing at the lab, or why he spent so many hours training down here in this safe room. She had never mentioned his mask or made any reference to knowing that he was the mercenary being called _Deathstroke_. The night he'd unintentionally revealed his other side to her she'd been frightened; so much so that she'd worried about repercussions (as if he'd ever harm her). _Why was she speaking up now_? he found himself wondering. It was something he needed to find out before he left for the evening.

"You have never spoken about what you remember from the night that I saved you," he said, studying her face and seeing the faint flickers that said louder than words that his dove knew more than she'd been letting on. "And I have never asked you about what you know... until now."

It wasn't phrased as a question, not really. It was more of an open ended comment. She could either respond to it, or not. The choice was up to her. In the past she'd refrained from answering. Not tonight though. "I don't remember much from that night," she admitted in a somber voice. "But for this and the words you said to me. 'You're..."

"Safe now, little one,'" he rumbled in that same tone he'd used as he'd walked from the basement with her in his arms. He remembered speaking those words to her. And he remembered the impact that they had had upon her. Her body had shuddered in his arms and he'd half imagined she'd succumbed to the effects of whatever drugs they'd been feeding her.

Then he'd felt more than heard her murmur, "promise?" against his throat. It was the third promise he'd made to someone in the past five years—the second to a woman. This promise he'd made damn sure to keep. He wasn't going to fail to protect Sienna as he'd failed… he pushed the thought aside and looked over at her. Her lips, he saw, were curved, warm with affection. "I remember speaking those words to you," he said with a faint nod. "What I do not understand is why you are mentioning them now."

"Well," she said as she turned to fully face him. "Until a few weeks ago, I was content with allowing my avenger to remain nothing but a silent memory that we silently shared between us."

His lips lifted at the corners. "But you are not content with allowing your..._avenger_ to remain a secret shared silently between us?"

She shook her head. "No, I'm not."

"And why is that?"

Her thumb again stroked over the smooth contours of the mask. "I feel with the change in things between us that there are certain things which are acceptable now for us to discuss." She held up the mask. "And this is one of those things I think we should talk about."

_Aha_, was Slade's bemused thought. _My dove wants to know where the boundaries between us are_. Well, he could establish where the limits were for her. Not that there were many lines he would not allow her to cross. Even the topic of Oliver Queen was not one that he planned to make off-limits to her. Silently, he applauded and approved of her finally stepping out of her shell. Her newfound courage was something he found alluring, her new confidence invigorating, and her sudden boldness as intoxicating to him as the floral scent she habitually wore. A thaw had set in after the night of their first official date. The fire Maiden who'd been asleep beneath the ice had finally awoken from her slumber. And he liked it.

"Come here, Sienna," he commanded quietly. Instantly, she complied, the smile curving her lips a decidedly feminine one that was more mystery than it was a superiority type one. He knew Sienna lacked the cold and cunning demeanor that Isabel Roschev possessed. She wasn't capable of telling him even the whitest of lies (a fact which had amused him when his birthday came near). She lacked the sophistication necessary to weave complex and calculating little ploys of deception. She didn't have a ruthless bone in her body. And that was why he'd chosen Sienna to not only take over his amassed fortune in the event that something should happen to him, but take over as his representative in all his business affairs at the same time. It was his way of guaranteeing that his Queen would be taken care of in the (unlikely) event of his death.

"Am I mistaken in my belief that things have changed between us?" she queried as she drew up next to him. "Is the only thing which has changed between us is our sleeping arrangements?"

He saw the flash of vulnerability, the momentary uncertainty and realized that while the fire Maiden was getting her bearings, the ice Queen was still in full control. He drew her into his lap. "No, love," he assured her in a low purr. "You are not wrong."

She sighed as her belly coiled (as it always did when he spoke in that velvety tone) and curled an arm around his neck. "Then can we discuss this?" She held up the mask she now held in one hand. "Can we discuss... _Deathstroke_?"

He hadn't known she knew his codename. He found himself wondering what else she knew. He took the mask from her and set it to the side of him. "And what is it that you would like to discuss?"

"Well, I'd like to discuss where he is going tonight and what he is planning for one thing."

Slade was only mildly surprised about how she knew about his plans. "And who told you about what I have planned for this evening?" he asked with only the ghost of a smile gracing his lips.

"Isabel Rochev. And," she made a face. "She did it with a great deal of delight."

He made a note to speak with Isabel about overstepping her bounds. It was a standing rule that nobody in his employee (save for Marta) was to speak with Sienna unless he was present. "I see," was all he said.

"Slade," she said softly, "are you planning on forcing a confrontation with Oliver Queen tonight?"

He saw no point in denying it. "Yes."

He saw her frown. "At the labs?"

"Yes."

"I don't like it." She blew out a breath. "I think it is a very bad idea. I wish that you'd stay home. I want you to stay home."

If it had been anybody else to say that to him they'd have lost their life before the last word even left their lips. Yet he knew Sienna was speaking from her heart. For that reason, and that reason alone, he allowed her comment to slide. "Do you doubt my ability to defeat the Arrow, little one?" he asked lightly.

"No, I trust that you are more than capable of defeating the…" her lips quirked at the corners, "green fairy as you like to call him."

He swallowed a laugh. He'd forgotten he'd told her that. "Then what is it that is bothering you, love?"

She stared again at his mask, her face darkly pensive. "I don't know what is bothering me, exactly." Her brow puckered. "I just have this feeling that you won't come home." She turned eyes that shimmered in the light to his. "Promise me that you'll come home."

Any logical defense, any cocky statement he might have made quite simply crumbled. "Sienna."

"_Promise_ me, Slade. Promise me that you will come home."

He drew her head down until it was cradled on his shoulder, and felt her long, long sigh echo his own. "I promise you," he told her seriously. "I'll come home."


	6. Broken Promises

**A/N:** Hello m'dears… I hope the week has been a good one to you!

Please, if you like this story, click the follow/favorite button. Also, reviews are deeply cherished!

* * *

It was not easy for a man like him to be able to take a few days for himself. It was a complicated and extremely taxing business to have to reschedule meetings, postpone appointments, inform underlings and alert his small staff about his intended vacation. His entire game plan depended upon his being involved in even the minutest of details. There was nobody in his organization that he trusted to oversee the day to day operations or the smaller aspects of what it was that he had planned for Oliver Queen. Even more problematic than that was figuring out where to go that would allow him to be close by in case his underlings ran into a problem (as he anticipated they would), and which allowed him and Sienna the privacy he craved.

A few days away from Starling (especially with the changes going on in their relationship), was something he'd felt was critical at this point in time. After careful consideration (and Isabel's reckless attack upon the kid resulting in his needing to give her an injection of _Mirakuru_), Slade decided there was no place besides his private penthouse which offered him the viable and satisfying compromise he wanted between his personal and professional lives. Sienna had been amenable to remaining at home (as he'd suspected she would be) and pretending that the world outside the window was not the same one they'd been seeing for the last few months. Nobody was to know that he was taking this time away to spend it with Sienna. Not his minions, not his research staff, and certainly _not_ Oliver Queen. Naturally, he could still be reached via cell if there was an extreme emergency or crisis. Otherwise, and until he made it clear that he was back from his hiatus, he was not to be bothered at all.

So far, he'd managed to get away for one day without his professional world intruding upon his private one. Only one part of his world refused to obey his edict for privacy: _Shado_. He had not been able to silence the woman who haunted his every waking moment. He would wake at night in a cold sweat from images of Shado, _his_ Shado, standing at the foot of his bed with hot, hot eyes. Accusatory, and mocking him. Clearly condemning him for allowing himself to care for the woman who was asleep beside him. The two sides there were of him were tearing at each other. One side demanded that he remember his promise to the woman he'd lost while the other told him that it was okay for him to love again, that he wasn't breaking his promise by finding happiness for himself.

Only Shado continued to torment him.

The terrible grief and encompassing guilt he'd felt upon her death had turned slowly, inexplicably, into a cold and killing rage. Had he forgotten her? Hardly. Had his promise to Shado become overshadowed by Sienna's entrance into his life? No. Everything he had done up to that point had been done as a means of fulfilling his quest to avenge Shado's death. He hadn't imagined that he would find himself drawn to his dove when he rescued her. He had not imagined that she'd become the light inside his darkness. And yet, Slade knew that Sienna was much more than his calm, his moral reasoning and his anchor.

She was his heart.

What good that was left inside him she held in trust. He wasn't a romantic man, or a man who wore his heart upon his sleeve. He was, however, a wise man. He knew that the diminutive figure standing across from him, those eyes sparkling with a hint of feminine mischief (and a surprising amount of determination) was the keeper of that fickle muscle that was beating inside his chest. That was why he'd decided it was high time he teach his little dove how to protect and defend herself. Small of stature she might be, and delicately built at that, there was a fighter still inside of Sienna James. _Nobody survives the hell that she did without being a fighter_, he thought as he studied her.

"All right, love," he commanded gently. "Hit me." He watched her eyes pop open wide at his order. Then she quickly shook her head.

"Oh, no..." she stammered. "I ca.."

He interjected with a quiet, but firm, "Yes, you can. Now," he repeated, more firmly. "Hit me."

"Open handed?" she squeaked.

He had to fight his urge to smile at her nervousness. "Closed fist."

"I thought you'd say that." She hesitated, studying him with wide, panicked eyes. Then she chirped, "... you promise you won't get mad if I actually hit you, right?"

He smiled then, he could not help himself. "Love," he rumbled, his tone a jocular one. "I assure you that you will not, in fact, actually hit me."

"Oh, is that so?"

Slade nodded and watched as she lifted a bunched fist, then let out a deep chuckle that had her heart tripping over itself in her chest. She'd never heard him laugh like that. Not an honest and true laugh that had the years and all his troubles melting from his face. He looked so much younger, happier... _free_. He was freed from the chains of grief and binding ropes of hate which held him fast. The rage that dominated so much of his existence no longer darkened his face. It was a sight that gave her hope for their future together. By the power of whatever gods were listening, she was going to make him laugh like that more often. She vowed it. And if it killed her, she was going to keep that vow. Sienna blew a lock of hair from her face as she took the ready stance he'd shown her. He chuckled again.

"Sienna," he said gently. "If you hit me with your thumb tucked in that way, you'll only end up hurting yourself more than you will hurt anyone else."

"Really?" Sienna looked at her fist with great interest. "And why is that?"

"You shall end up breaking your thumb for one," he told her, taking a step towards her. "And you will cause pain to radiate throughout your hand and wrist for another."

"And that will distract me and make it easy for the person I am fighting to take advantage of me, right?"

He nodded. "Yes."

She heaved one long sigh before looking up at him. "I'm beginning to think that you teaching me how to defend myself might have been a very bad idea, Slade." Her lower lip jutted out in a little pout that he found to be entirely too enticing. "I'm just too much of a girl, I think."

Slade reached out to tuck a flyaway strand of hair behind her ear, his smile that wolfish one which made her toes curl. "I am rather fond of you being a girl, little one."

"And when I am with you I don't mind being a girl so much." She reached up to take his hand in her own. "But as fun as my being a girl might be, you were right. I should learn how to defend myself." She gave him a grin that edged towards sheepish. "I just might not be as capable of it as you hope I am."

"Love," he began by saying, "If I can teach Oliver Queen how to fight, I can teach you how to fight."

Her eyebrows shot up with the force of her surprise. "_You_ taught him how to fight?"

It was the first time that he'd volunteered any information about his past relationship with the former CEO of Queen Consolidated. Even though they had talked the night they'd spent onboard his yacht, and no matter that Slade had revealed much about his life, there was still one large part of his life he only doled out in spades: the time he spent trapped on an island he called "Lian Yu." She'd already gleaned from the few nibblets he'd given her that it was during his time as an island castaway that he'd met (and apparently trained) the man who'd become the Starling vigilante. It was also on Lian Yu that he'd met the woman who was at the heart of the conflict between him and Oliver: Shado.

Slade did not speak of her very often, but when he did there was always a husky timbre to his voice and this softness about his face which told her he'd cared greatly for the young woman. Overwriting those softer feelings, though, was a thick layer of steel edged grief and guilt overlaid by smoldering hate and anger. Even though she did not know _how_ exactly Shado had been killed (he refused to answer her the one time she foolishly had asked), she did know two things: that Oliver Queen was somehow involved and that Slade blamed himself for not being there to stop it.

She wanted to ask him more about those events, wanted to delve deeper into the secrets of the life he'd lived before they'd met, but knew she had to tread lightly. Slade was a man who could switch between hot and cold without a moment's notice. He needed to be ready to talk about the events of the island (and Shado's death) with her. And while she suspected that he had opened the door to that chamber, she much doubted that he was ready to allow her through it.

So she repeated her earlier question. "_You_ were one of his teachers?"

"I was one of the kid's teachers," he said with a slight nod of his head. "Yes."

"Mm," was the only sound she uttered in reply. Slade smirked as he watched her mulling that particular little tidbit over. He could see the plethora of questions swirling in those mahogany eyes. However, she didn't vocalize any one of the thoughts that he could see were being analyzed by that logical little mind of hers. He appreciated that she refrained from pushing him for answers at that moment. He wasn't honestly sure he was completely ready to give her those answers she sought.

"I can see that you want to ask me a thousand things right now," he said curiously. "Why don't you?"

"Because I want you to _want_ to share that part of yourself-and your life, with me, Slade."

_Yes_, he thought as he cupped her face in his hands, tangled them in her hair; she was the keeper of his heart for a reason. She was patience and trust and everything else that once had been good about him. He lowered his head, took her lips with his own. He took the kiss deeper when she made a quiet sound that was a mixture of amusement and pleasure. When she pressed invitingly against him, he slid his hands down her back, pulled her even closer. He was about to pick her up in his arms when he heard a discreet cough. He let out a low vehement curse before lifting his head and fixing the man standing in the doorway with a blistering, burning stare.

"This had better be important," he growled.

* * *

Sebastian Blood shivered beneath the threat that was thick in that rich baritone. Yet, he knew that he could not back out now. Not without there being serious repercussions. He stepped farther into the room, his gaze sliding over to the woman whose body was still pressed tight against Slade's. He saw the sliver of dislike that flickered over her face, through her eyes and resented it- _her_, for it. He gave her a tight, polite smile before glancing again at the man who held her in his thick arms.

"We have a problem." He heard the resentment in his tone even as Sienna did. He saw her eyes widen, and then narrow in a silent warning that amused the Alderman more than impressed him. But if the blasted man she clung to noticed, he made no acknowledgment of it. Sebastian felt his hatred for this man flare into a raging inferno. _Soon though_, he promised himself. _I will have my vengeance upon you soon_. "And it is a potentially catastrophic problem, in fact."

"And what _potentially catastrophic_ problem do we have?"

"Moira Queen came to see me about an hour ago."

That dark eye gleamed. "Did she now?" Slade purred. "And what exactly did she come to see you about?"

"She's dropping out of the mayoral race," he paused to let that sink in. "Tonight."

"Is she now?" Slade's lips thinned into a hard, disapproving line. "Go," he ordered Blood. "Wait for me in my office. I will be there in a few minutes."

Sebastian just nodded and turned to walk from the room. Slade watched him go before he then glanced down at Sienna. She was gazing up at him with concern. "Love," he said with an apologetic sigh. "I..."

"Need to go back to work," she said for him. She leaned up to brush a kiss to his cheek. "It's okay, Slade. I understand."

"I will make this up to you," he told her. "I promise."

Her lips curved into a decidedly mischievous smile. "Oh, well," she quipped playfully. "You can make it up to me by taking me to Hawaii then."

His lips twitched. "An island joke, love?"

"I'm sorry, I couldn't resist." She then sobered and looked at him, her face serious. "Will you be with the Alderman long?"

He placed a kiss to her forehead. "No."

She nodded and stepped back. "Then I will tell Marta not to hold dinner."

"All right," was all he said before he turned and exited the room.

* * *

"You told me to leave Moira Queen to you!" Sebastian Blood exclaimed a few minutes later. He stalked over to the minibar in Slade's office and poured himself a drink. The single-malt whiskey did little to staunch the flood of temper streaking through him. He paced back and forth across the floor, fingers clutching at the tumbler he held. "You told me that you were going to take care of her! When is that going to happen?"

Slade studied him in silence. The man's smell was Calvin Klein and nerves. It was an empowering, intoxicating scent. His lips lifted into a slow, predatory smile. "And I will handle Moira Queen as I promised I would," he said in one low, moist hiss. "What I don't understand is why you are upset about Moira dropping out of the mayoral campaign. I would think that this is exactly what you wanted to have happen."

Sebastian stopped pacing and turned to stare at the man who was seated behind that ornate desk. Slade Wilson looked nothing like the suave and debonair businessman he normally did, not with the days worth of stubble darkening his cheeks and his salt-and-pepper hair mussed. If anything, he looked like a pampered playboy. _A well-fed and completely content playboy_, Sebastian amended, his teeth gnashing together so hard he was sure that the man watching him could hear the cracking sound.

The night he'd watched them had made it brutally obvious that Slade Wilson and Sienna James were lovers. Even still, seeing his hands on that lush body down in the armory had made him sick. Knowing that this man was sleeping with Sienna...it was beyond disgusting. _Him_! he thought maliciously as he downed his drink in one fiery gulp. _He gets the pleasure of her servicing his physical needs! _Oh, but the rest of them? They were treated like vermin. Like dirt beneath her lily white feet. It was inconceivable! Unconscionable even! However, he would soon have her at his mercy and repay her for her insolence.

He could not wait.

For the moment he focused again upon the man who he was going to make pay for his unmitigated arrogance.

"Why shouldn't I be upset about Moira Queen dropping out of the race?" he asked. "It is an unexpected move that could well blow up in our faces!"

"And it is a move that could be exactly what it appears to be," Slade said smoothly. "You should be happy now that all of Starling will soon be at your command."

Sebastian regarded him with eyes he knew shimmered with his hatred and resentment. "Happy?" he asked in as calm a voice as he could manage at that moment. "And pray tell me, what stops Moira from changing her mind the moment she takes the stage tonight?"

"It will not matter whether she changes her mind or not," Slade assured him in a silky smooth tone. "What I have planned will ensure that becoming the Mayor of Starling is the very last thing that will be upon Moira Queen's mind."

"And I should trust that, why?"

Slade fixed him with a look so black that Sebastian swore he was staring straight into the middle of Hell. He felt himself begin to squirm beneath that glare and hated himself for it-for his cowardice. Slade's lips twisted into a knowing smile that Sebastian just itched to wipe off the man's smug face. He could not do that, and he (as well as Slade) knew it. Just as he knew that that smile was a taunt. A taunt as well as a challenge. The despicable man was daring him to do something-anything! to him. As if there _was_ anything he could do to this man. Even the Arrow was not enough to stop Slade Wilson.

"I would mind my manners, Alderman," Slade said in an ominous baritone. "You are already treading upon very unstable grounds with me."

"And..." Sebastian began, but Slade cut him off with a wave of one hand.

"A man who has promised to deliver much, and only delivered failure after pitiful failure should be more mindful of the things that he says. I have already started to lose my patience, as well as my faith in you. I do not need to remind you, for the third time, about how easily another can wear your mask, do I?"

"No," Sebastian replied in a sullen tone. "You do not need to remind me about how another can wear my mask."

"Then I suggest that you do not question me again." Slade pushed away from the desk and rose to his feet. "Now, if you will excuse me, I am going to get dressed so that I may attend to your little problem." His smile, Sebastian saw, was the essence of predatory. "Just as I promised you I would."

* * *

When he returned home that night it was to find his bedroom awash in a pearlescent light that was spilling in from the huge bay windows. Sienna and Marta both had forgotten to pull the heavy drapes before she'd retired for the evening. Not that it bothered him. After the disastrous events of the night, he found the rooms translucence to be calming.

He stood in the doorway and watched the light as it crept over the floor, the walls and over the huge four poster bed. He saw it caress the creamy flesh of the woman who was curled on her left side, fast asleep. A faint smirk twisted one corner of his mouth as he took notice of how Sienna was sleeping on _his_ side of the bed. And that she was wearing one of his dress shirts (one of his favorites, in fact). He slowly sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at his sleeping dove, fervently praying she would realize he was in need of her and awaken.

Awaken and wrap her arms and love around him, soothing away the maelstrom of emotions tearing his soul to shreds. Yes, part of one promise had been paid that night. There was only one other who needed to die in order for vengeance to be had. But the cost of this promise came at the expense of breaking another. _And all for what_? he found himself asking. _What did tonight really serve_? As he sat there, his black soul cast adrift inside the swirling abyss he'd created with his choice that night, he found himself wondering if what the kid had flung at him that night was remotely true.

"_That's not what happened_!" Oliver screamed at him, his eyes as well as his face a torment of fear, disbelief and agony.

"_That is what happened! It is! She told m_e!" Slade shouted back at him, pointing to where Shado was standing between a copse of trees. Oliver had looked to where he'd pointed and then back at him, stark confusion intermixing with the other emotions warring for dominance on his face; in his eyes.

"_What do you mean 'she'_?" he'd bitten out in a cold whisper. "_There's nobody there_!'"

Nobody there because Shado wasn't there, he realized now. She'd never really been there. She was a figment of his imagination, a hallucination caused by the _Mirakuru_ running rampant through his veins. He felt that familiar trickle of air as it blew across the back of his neck, prickling his overheated skin. He ignored it and those cold fingers which skimmed along his overly sensitive flesh. "Why do you doubt my existence?" he heard Shado whisper in his ear. "Why do you think that I am merely a hallucination caused by the _Mirakuru_?"

Slade raked his fingers through his hair, desperately wanting five minutes of fucking nothing in his head so that he could pull himself together. "Because I know that you are not real."

"Why do you think I am not real?" she queried. "Because Oliver said I am not? Or because you believe that I am not?"

"Because I _know_ you are not real!" he rasped. "You're dead, Shado. Dead!"

"And why is it that I am dead?" she murmured softly. "Is it not because Oliver chose another woman over me?"

"Did he, Shado?" he growled, glancing over to where she stood in front of the window, her white dress voluminous and ethereal in the moonlight. "Did Oliver choose Sara over you?"

"I have told you he did."

"Is it what really happened though?" he cried desperately. "Is it what happened? Tell me!"

"Slade?"

He turned and saw Sienna was sitting up in bed. "I'm here, love."

"What is it?" she murmured sleepily. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." He reached out and cupped her sleep-flushed cheek in his hand. "Go back to sleep."

His dove was far from a stupid woman. She knew something was wrong with him, was bothering him. And he suspected she knew that something bad had happened to unhinge him this way. She reached up to take his hand in her own. "Let me help you. _Please_."

"You are helping me, little one." He pulled her unresisting body into his lap. "You are helping me."

"Please, talk to me," she begged. "Tell me what's happened, Slade."

"No." He held her close, stroked her hair. "I cannot tell you about what happened. I will not."

God he wanted to tell her though. The agony of his secret, of what he'd done, was shredding his soul in two. He let out a low moan, an animal in agony, and felt her arms band tightly around him, holding him close.

"There is nothing that you can tell me that I will not understand, Slade. _Nothing_."

He heard Shado laugh throatily. "So trusting she is. So loyal. I wonder if those blinders will come off when she learns about what a monster you are?"

"Leave her be," he snarled. "You leave her be! She's got nothing to do with this!"

"Slade...?" he heard Sienna asking, worry and fear evident in her tone. "Who are you talking too?"

"Shado," he told her. Only dimly did he recognize his mistake. It was the second time that night that he'd made such a mistake. Yet, he did not attempt to correct himself. Not this time.

"Shado?" Sienna murmured in confusion. "But... Slade," she said slowly, cautiously. "Shado's dead."

"I know she is," he murmured against her throat, and stroking his hands up and down her back, breathed in that haunting scent he knew was only hers. It brought him little comfort. "I know she is," he repeated again.


	7. Calm before the Storm

**A/N:** Hello m'dears… I hope the week has been a good one to you!

Please, if you like this story, click the follow/favorite button. Also, reviews are deeply cherished!

I want to thank Neo for helping me with editing and making sure that this chapter was up to snuff. Thanks Neo!

* * *

In the afternoon, beneath a salubrious sun, Slade was stretched out on the back deck of his yacht with Sienna. They were, for once, completely alone. There were no underlings to disrupt them, no staff to concern them. They were just two people who were out enjoying a relaxing day at sea. Starling City was nothing but a faint silhouette in the distance. The silence surrounding them was almost absolute. Only the sound of the water caressing the hull of the ship broke the quiet. It was a much needed moment of peace following the life changing events of a few nights prior. The monster within him had been satiated as soon as it saw the light go out in Moira Queen's eyes. Yet, Slade knew that it was only a brief respite. The beast was going to awaken at any moment, craving wanton destruction, hungering for the snap of bones and lusting for the taste of Oliver Queen's blood on his tongue.

"I don't know how to help you."

His fingers lazily skimmed up and down her back in one continuous motion. The silky texture of her skin against the rough pads of his fingers was shooting sparks of heat up his arm. The demon within him was lulled into a temporary state of calm by the warm sun and the lush body which was lying atop his own.

"You are here, love," he told her quietly. "That is enough."

Her soft sigh blew across his moist flesh, causing his senses to start tingling and his blood to simmer on a low boil. "Is my being here the only thing you need?"

"I never thought I would need anyone to be with me, not in the way that I need you. After..." he paused, considered. He felt those hot, accusatory eyes upon him and knew the woman who haunted his every waking thought was watching, waiting to see what he'd say, what he'd do. He could hear her voice, taunting him.

"Will you tell her the truth?" Shado whispered in his ear. "Will you tell her about how you might sleep with her, care for her, but that you will never love her? Not as you love me?"

He swallowed around the lump in his throat.

"After I lost Shado," he said, his voice huskier than he liked. "I closed myself off to this, convinced myself I did not deserve it, was not meant to have it."

"Tell me about her. About Shado. Please."

"No," he told her in that silky smooth tone he tended to use whenever he didn't want to talk about a particular subject with her. He felt her sigh and reached up to run a hand through her hair. He'd opened this door when he'd unwittingly allowed it to slip to her about how he saw-heard Shado. He owed her an explanation. He knew that he did. He just wasn't ready to give her one. Not just yet. "Soon, little one," he assured her finally. "I will tell you about Shado soon. I promise."

"You're making her another promise?" Shado taunted in a moist hiss. "Do you plan on keeping this one? Or will you break this one as you broke the one about not harming anybody innocent?"

"I promise you, love," he repeated in an ominous tone. "I will tell you about Shado soon."

* * *

"I promise you, love," Slade told her in a voice that rolled like thunder across the sky. "I will tell you about Shado soon."

Sienna drew in a breath and imagined lightning cracking the sky. She almost thought she smelled ozone stinging the air and glanced towards the western horizon to see if dark clouds were sweeping in. They weren't, of course. There wasn't a cloud to be seen for miles, in fact. She then found herself wondering if he was making that dark promise to _her_, or Shado. If it was to her, it marked the eighth promise he'd ever made to her (and the first one he'd ever made in this particular tone). If he was making it to Shado, she found herself not only wondering just what it was he was promising her, but why he was making his declaration in such a harsh tone.

Promises, Sienna had come to learn, were things that carried special meaning with Slade. They were not guarantees that he made recklessly, nor that he treated lightly. Sienna recalled how the first promise he'd ever made to her was about how he would "never allow" her "to be hurt again."

"I will protect you, little one," he'd crooned to her in a silky smooth timbre that had made her belly do jumping jacks even while her head swam in a drug induced haze. "And I will keep you safe. I promise."

It was a promise he'd yet to break.

The second promise he'd made to her was about how he'd never lie to her. Granted, it was a promise he'd made while she'd been under the influence of the amphetamines her jailers had shoveled into her system by the milligram (and one clearly made in order to keep her calm). He'd still meant it. Once the drugs had cleared her system, she'd quickly learned two things about the man who'd rescued her: Slade Wilson always said what he meant, and he always meant what he said. He'd also set some very strict ground rules for how things were going to be between them. The first thing he'd told her, in no uncertain terms, was that even though he would never lie to her, it did not mean he was going to tell her "everything" about either "his business" or "his personal relationships."

The second rule he'd set?

That she was "never to lie to" him under "any circumstances."

She never had.

That was why she'd never pressed him for the answers to any of the questions she desired to ask him. It was a matter of respecting those boundaries he'd set, of keeping to the promises she'd made to him. Until a few nights ago, she'd been fine with leaving things that way. She'd been content with waiting until he was ready to invite her into that vast and private chamber where his memories were stored. She'd meant it when she'd told him that she wanted him "to _want_ to share that part" of himself, and his life, with her. However, something happened the night Slade chose to kill Moira Queen (that went beyond his choice to kill an innocent woman). He came home to her, as he'd promised (promise number seven, in fact) he would. But he came home a _changed_ man. The man she'd awoken to find in their bedroom was not the man who'd left it earlier that evening.

She just didn't know _why _or _what_ had brought about this change...

* * *

"Leave her be," he snarled out of nowhere. "You leave her be! She's got nothing to do with this!"

Sienna's startled gaze flew to his face. _What is going on_? she thought as fear and worry clawed at her insides. She whispered his name, but Slade didn't seem to hear her. His gaze was locked upon something... or _someone_ that only he could see. An agonized moan was ripped from him, reminding her of an animal which was mortally wounded. The sound of it made her heart weep, and her soul bleed. There was raw pain etched into the lines of his face. Yet, like always, it was the look in his eye that was her ultimate undoing. She was lost, helpless, and almost ripped apart by the emotions she saw churning within that charcoal gaze. That eye was burning with desperation, haunted by grief brimming with what she recognized as the last vestiges of anger, and swirling with a primal hunger that left her mouth dry and her pulse kicking like a Rockettes.

"Slade...?" Fear and worry made her voice thin and breathy. "Honey, who are you talking to?"

"Shado," he gritted, not bothering to turn and look at her.

Her eyebrows shot upwards. Sienna felt as if she was adrift in a roiling sea of confusion, desperation and fear. She was cast out even farther into the deep when he fisted his fingers in her shirt and buried his face against her shoulder with a soft moan. Instantly her arms wound around him, holding him tight.

"Shado?" she murmured. She, of course, knew who he was talking about. He had mentioned the fallen woman a few times over the months, but always in terms that Sienna equivalated as meaning that the woman was no longer _alive_. "But... Slade," she spoke slowly, taking extreme caution with her choice of words. He could blow hot or cold without a moment's notice. "Shado's dead."

"I know she is," he mouthed against her throat. His hands slid beneath her night shirt, stroking up and down her bare back, the coldness eliciting a tiny gasp that was part surprise and part burgeoning interest. "I know she is," he repeated again.

"Then why are you..." He silenced her with a kiss that was hunger laced with desperation and chased by need. It stole her breath; her wits. She could only cling, could only give while her heart slammed against her chest.

"Love me, Sienna," he begged when he lifted his head a second later. "I need you to love me."

* * *

It was the first time Slade Wilson admitted he needed _her_ for anything. They may have been together for nearly a year now (and lovers for just a few short months), but he'd never once told her that he needed her. Seeing him in such a vulnerable state had rocked her to the core of her being. For all his skill, all his experience, he was still only human. He had wants, same as everybody. He had needs, like everybody. He could be hurt, just like everybody. The man who was her savior could, himself, be left helpless, defenseless, and open to attack. Sienna had discovered three things that night about the man she'd given her heart too:

He was not immortal.

He was not invincible.

And he needed her to love him.

_Him_. This one-eyed hell-spawn who'd dished out bloody vengeance in her name was now calling for her to do battle against an invisible figure she could not see, could not even hear. _He_ was asking _her_ to fight now. Fight for him, his heart, and his very (tortured) soul. She could do that. She would do that, in fact. She'd go up against this ghost who was tormenting him. She'd fight Oliver Queen, Godzilla, and the Grim Reaper if he needed her too.

"Slade," she began in a quiet, reasonable tone, "I need you to talk to me..."

"Sienna," he said in that honeyed tone she knew meant she was treading on thin ice right now. "I said no."

"Okay," she conceded quietly. "I will let it be." Then she added a somber, "For now."

"Thank you, love."

Sienna sighed out a soft, "You're welcome," before burying her face against his shoulder.

She didn't see the flash of pain that swept his face. Or know that Shado's icy fingers were trailing across his chest, over his cheek, flicked over the hole where his eye once had been. Or that she was whispering to him, telling him to do things he couldn't bring himself to do.

"Slade, if you won't talk with me about Shado..."

"Soon, I promise," he repeated his earlier phrase. "I will tell you about her soon."

"Answer me this one question," she continued as if he hadn't interrupted her, "is what you are experiencing being caused by the _Mirakuru_?"

He turned his head, rest his lips against her brow. "I don't know."

"It is possible, though." She tipped up her head so her lips brushed his cheek. "Isn't it?"

"Yes."

She blew out a soft breath. "Okay," she said slowly. Her mind was working at a mile a minute. "Okay. That makes sense. Everything you've told me about the serum..."

"Sienna?" There was a ripple of what might have been dark amusement in his tone. "Love?"

"Hrm?" she murmured distractedly. She looked up. Met his eye. "What is it?"

"Will you shut off that brain of yours for the remainder of the afternoon?"

She frowned. "But..."

"I would prefer to discuss where you would like to go once my business with Oliver Queen is concluded."

She made a sound low in her throat before asking, "Can we go anywhere?"

He slanted a look at her. "Long as it is not a tropical island, yes."

She sighed. "You are such a killjoy, Slade."

He slid his hand into her hair, drew her head down until it was again cradled on his shoulder. "I spent enough time on an island to last me for one lifetime, love."

"I know you have." She curled her fingers over his heart. "I know you have."

He was silent for a few moments. Sienna wondered if he was thinking about their conversation, Shado, or the plans he'd put into play in order to exact payback upon the man who he felt had stolen everything from him. She suspected it was the last two. Sienna was under no delusions about the position that she occupied in either Slade's life, or his heart. She was his partner as well as his lover. He trusted her and he cared for her. But she knew he did not love her. Not in the same way that she loved him, and which he loved Shado. She'd resigned herself to being content with just being with him. If he came to love her, even just a teeny bit, she would be happy.

"Sienna?"

"Hrm?" she murmured.

"If we were to get married..."

She sat up in one quick, jerky motion. "Married?"

"Yes, love, married." There was wry amusement in the wretched man's voice, upon his face. "As in honor, cherish," his lips curved. "_Obey_."

She harrumphed. "I know what marriage is, thank you very much."

"And it bothers you?"

"Not bothers, no," she said. "And stop smiling at me that way, as if I'm being incredibly dense. You did rather just spring this upon me." She looked out over the water, toward the sparkling city perched upon the horizon. "Why are you mentioning marriage anyway, Slade?"

"It is something I have been thinking about for the past few days."

She looked over her shoulder at him, felt her stomach flutter. "And exactly what have you been thinking about it?"

"If we were to marry, would you prefer to live somewhere rural or urban?"

It was a second jolt. "Rural or urban? As in some place like Starling or somewhere more quiet, like Northern Australia?"

His eyebrow forked. "Northern Australia is sparsely populated, love."

"Exactly," she said, nodding. "The likelihood of you getting into trouble is less if there are not a lot of people around in which to draw your ire."

His lips twitched. "Is that your way of saying you want me to give up my life as a mercenary?"

"Even mercenaries have to retire at some point. And besides," she said before he could speak. "I hate every time that you walk out of our apartment now. I hate not knowing if the last time I see you is the last time I am ever going to see you. I hate the worry. Not knowing if you're hurt. Or if you are dead. I want more than a life of blood and vengeance."

"Vengeance shall be mine soon. However," he said. "You have not answered my question about marriage."

"I know you have will have your revenge upon Oliver very soon. And you did not actually ask me," she said with some annoyance. "You more or less posed a theory about marriage."

"If we were to marry," he repeated for the third time, and the humor in his voice had her sighing with vexation, "would you consent to live with me in some sparsely populated area so that my bloodthirsty ways can be contained?"

Her lips twitched. Just for a moment. Then she recalled the subject at hand and sobered. "Why are you going on about marriage all of a sudden?"

He cupped her cheek in his palm. "In a few days I will unleash the last of my plan upon Oliver Queen. He and I will fight, and one, or the both of us, is going to die." His tone clearly signified just who it was that he figured was going to end up dancing with the Reaper.

"And you want to make an honest woman of me before you go off to die?" Sarcasm poured like molasses off her tongue. "Gee, thanks."

He fixed her with a look that said he didn't appreciate her tone, or her comment. "I want to make sure that you are provided for in case I do not survive."

Of all the reasons he could have given, _providing_ for her was the last one she'd expected (much less wanted to hear). "You will survive," she gritted. "You will!" she insisted when she saw the look on his face. "Damn you! Goddamn you!" she raged. "You are _not _going to die on me! You hear me? You are _not _going to die on me!"

Slade continued talking as if he hadn't heard a word of her angry outburst (though she knew the wretch had heard every word she'd uttered). "I had a new will drawn up a few days ago," he said in that velvety baritone he used whenever he was addressing the staff or some of the men in his employ. "You're the sole beneficiary who is named in it. Everything I own will transfer to you in the event of my death."

"I don't want it!" she cried. She scrambled into his lap, pummeled his shoulders with her fists. "You hear me? I don't _want_ it!"

"Isabel will contest the will. She will make things extremely difficult for you."

"Then make _her_ the beneficiary of your damned estate," she hissed. "I don't want it."

"What do you want, love?"

"What do you _think_ I want, you idiot man?" she ground out between her teeth.

* * *

_What did she want_? he mused silently. Oh, he knew the answer to that. Getting Sienna to admit it, though, was what _he_ wanted; needed to hear. It was her hesitation about the subject of marriage that had prompted him into pushing her to admit that she wanted _him_ instead of the fortune he'd managed to amass since leaving the island. He'd needed to prove Shado _wrong_. He had to prove that Sienna was not the gold digger Shado was telling him she was. He had to show her that this was a flesh and blood woman with a heart of gold and a warm and gentle soul.

He needed her to see how Sienna was Penelope to her Clytemnestra.

He wasn't blindly giving his heart to this woman. She'd proven her loyalty to him when she'd pushed herself beyond her limits just to deliver his gift to the kid. She remained with him despite his innumerable faults and flaws. She overlooked the darker side of his business ventures. And she overlooked those times when the monster surfaced to address his idiot minions. In seeing the anger and hurt and desperation that had all but sizzled upon her face, the woman plaguing his every waking moment fell silent. It was only momentary, however. He knew that once Shado had had time to process everything she'd seen—heard, she'd be back. Until then, there was only one thing that he wanted to hear. The one thing, in fact, that Sienna had not said: that she'd marry him.

"Sienna," he said. "You never answered me, love."

"About?"

"If we were to marry," he repeated for the fourth time now, fighting to contain a chuckle when he heard her cursing vehemently. _Now where had his dove learned that language_? he wondered. "Would you consent to live with me in some sparsely populated area so that my bloodthirsty ways can be contained?"

"I've said I would."

"Yes, you have," he agreed. "Yet you have not said if you would consent to live with me as my wife."

She glowered at him. "You have not _asked_ me to be your wife," she snapped. "So the answer to that would be a big, fat, _no_."

"Will you marry me, Sienna?"

He heard her muttering, "Patience is a virtue," beneath her breath. Then her expression relaxed into that quietly intense one he'd come to adore. "Is this something we need to be discussing now?" she asked him. "Shouldn't this conversation wait for until after you have finished your business with Oliver Queen?" She twirled a strand of hair around her finger. It was a clear sign that his dove was unsettled with their conversation. He hid a smile. "You're talking _marriage_ here," he heard her say, "not just sharing a house. There are things we haven't even discussed yet for chrissakes."

"Such as?"

"Shado?" she said pointedly.

"Soon," he swore again. "I will talk with you about her soon."

She heaved a sigh. "Children?"

He smirked. "I have a son, Joe."

She harrumphed. "I meant _us_ having a child, Slade."

A possessive lust filled him at the thought of her pregnant with his child. His voice wasn't quite steady when he spoke. "And that is another reason for why we should get married."

"What is?"

"You could be carrying my child," he stated in a firm voice, "and I want to make sure that you and our child are provided for in case something happens to me."

Just the thought of having his child made her heart ache. But it was not enough of a reason to marry. She touched her lips to his cheek, telling him so. "And I want the man asking me to marry him to at least love me a little."

"In that case..." his arms twined around her waist, pulled her close. "There is no reason for why you cannot say yes, love."

She frowned at him. "There isn't?"

Brows high, he met her gaze. "Sienna. Do you think I would ask you to be my wife if I wasn't fond of you?"

She blinked, then her features became a kaleidoscope of different thoughts and emotions. "But..." She didn't have any buts she could think of.

He sensed it; he studied her, then said, his voice lower, huskier-more beguiling: "Marry me, love."

* * *

Her head, mind and senses were whirling. She forced herself to strip aside the complications of his plans and intentions. She looked beyond her own pride and insecurities. And then she got straight to the heart of the matter. After one more quiet moment she sighed before asking, "You're not going to let this go until you have an answer, are you?"

His gaze didn't waver; she'd read his answer in his eye before he stated: "No."

She considered him. His face was that usual impassive mask of his. But there was a raw vulnerability in his eye, and a dark desperation. It matched what was echoing in her heart. Dragging in an unsteady breath, Sienna straightened, feeling invisible ropes close gently, but securely around her. "Then yes," she said. "I'll marry you."


End file.
